


The Stuff Ferry Tales Are Made Of

by MsBrooklyn



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-08
Updated: 2005-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBrooklyn/pseuds/MsBrooklyn
Summary: none





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

There she was. She looked good, but then she always looked good. After all, this was Ellen Feldman, and for her, looking good was a way of life. She also looked bored. Alex Krycek watched her as he waited for the hostess to finish seating the couple in front of him. 

 

Was it a date? Hard to tell. Feldman was wearing a short, tight black dress that screamed 'fuck me', but her companion was dressed like he just stepped out of a courtroom. Not a bad-looking guy, but he was no Alex Krycek, that was for damned sure. There was a thick accordion folder on their table, jammed with manila folders. A legal pad was at Feldman's elbow and her companion was reading from a green book entitled, 'American Jurisprudence 2d.' Poor Feldman was trying hard not to yawn. 

 

"Sir?" The hostess, obviously a college kid, smiled up at him. "It'll be another ten minutes until your table is ready. Would you like to wait at the bar?" 

A stroll to the bar would take him right past Feldman's table. Krycek checked his reflection in the glass doors of the restaurant ---- damn, but he was an attractive man! Tight jeans, worn soft and almost frayed in all the right places, a tight black T-shirt, his soft, lambskin leather jacket and finished with Aqua di Gio for Men, bought for him by Feldman during one of their many shopping trips together. 

 

He grinned down at the girl with his most mesmerizing smile, the one that made women wet and men hard. "Sure. I can use a good stiff one." 

 

"So we ended up saving him an extra seven hundred thousand." Ken chuckled at his own story, oblivious to the fact that Ellen was not amused. 

 

In fact, she was damned bored. This was supposed to be a date and this joker showed up with a file he wanted her to look at. Served her right for going out with somebody she met at a Continuing Legal Education seminar. Ken seemed so interesting then, but now it was as if he left his personality in the Hyatt conference room where he gave his speech on Estate Planning Issues Under the Changes to the Tax Code. 

 

Interesting. How could anybody be as interesting as her Ratboy? Ratboy could keep her attention for hours at a time, even more than Mulder ever could. It wasn't just Krycek's delicious eight-incher, but that gorgeous body and the fact that he never, ever said 'no' to her. And unlike Mulder, he didn't trick her into doing things. Why did her sweet Ratboy have to tell her he liked men, too? She could live with his profession - it gave her a whole new perspective on her practice - but when he told her he kissed Mulder... 

 

"Ellen?" 

 

"Huh?" 

 

Ken held up a sheaf of notes. "You might want to review these. We're proposing an amendment to this regulation and I would love to hear your comments blah blah blah... " 

 

Ellen was distracted by the sight of an amazing ass walking past her table. She tore her eyes from it long enough to catch the scent of Aqua di Gio for Men and to see the leather jacket that was worn soft in all the right places ---oh god. Ratboy. He was walking to the bar. He didn't see her. 

 

//Hey, Ratboy, over here! Come over here, dammit!// Oops. He dropped his wallet. And he was bending over to get it. Ohhhhhh. Well, so much for having a clean, dry pair of underwear. 

 

She wasn't the only one enjoying the show either. A quick scope of the bar confirmed at least five pairs of eyes on her Ratboy - two of them men. Krycek sidled up to the bar and began making conversation with a statuesque blonde with huge hooters. Ellen absently adjusted her Wonderbra and didn't bother to hide her scowl of displeasure. A man who was far too attractive circled Alex like a shark, locked eyes with the blonde, fought a quick battle of wills and then stalked off to the men's room, where Ellen presumed he'd do something about the hard-on he got from scoping out her Ratboy. Holy hell! The blonde with the headlights was buying Ratboy a drink and he was beaming at her. How dare that bitch mow her lawn?! How dare Alex let himself be mowed?! She had a good mind to go over there and drag him out by whatever she could grab first. Y'know what? That was a plan, right there. Now all she had to do was ditch the loser. 

 

" -Ellen?" 

 

She clapped a hand to her side, to her beeper, plucking it from her Coach handbag and holding it up. "I've got an emergency, Ken. I'll call you." 

 

"But -" 

 

"Bye." She grabbed her purse and looked for Krycek at the bar, but he was gone. How could he have moved so fast? Her pumps clicked noisily on the marble floor and almost went out from under her as she hurried outside. Nothing. Damn. Well, there was always Ken. Yeah, and there was always root canal, too. Thanks but no thanks. It looked like it was going to be another night spent with her vibrator and her copy of Grosse Point Blank - which just had to be her Ratboy's autobiography. 

 

Twelve dollars and forty-one cents. And it was going to have to last for another week at the very least, until she finished the McGovern matter and could send a bill. Make that two weeks, because she'd have to send the bill, McGovern would have to get it and then pay her. She hoped he wasn't a deadbeat like the rest of her clients. 

 

Ellen looked into her shopping cart and frowned at the contents. Generic pasta. Ragu - because it was on sale and she had a coupon. Chicken for Winky. Six dollars right there. She had to choose wisely because whatever she picked was going to have to last. 

 

Why was her luck always so damned bad? Who would have thought Moore would fire her? Especially after she did all the preliminary work for him, drafting the corporate papers ---- oh, who was she kidding, the man was an ass. 'Sorry, Miss Feldman, but I believe men are better lawyers.' And the bastard had the nerve to ask for his retainer back, didn't offer to pay for the work she did. Two thousand dollars - her rent, student loan payment and money for the month were gone. Her landlord was already sick of her excuses for her perpetually late rent and he was threatening to evict her if she was late again. There wasn't even anything left for her to sell, except for her laptop and she needed it for work. 

What an awful week. All that work, all that research. For nothing. The only highlight to her week had been the Ratboy spottings. He kept turning up in the damnedest places and then disappearing before she could 'accidentally' bump into him. Two days ago, he was on her train. Yesterday she saw him at the courthouse. If only he'd show up today... she could use a few hours with her favorite new toy. 

 

She was looking for him. That annoyed her. Since when did she become so... well, what word fit? It wasn't like she was in love with him. Lust, absolutely. But love? Nah. First of all, he wasn't Jewish and then there was that thing with the men. Definitely not Long Term Relationship material, no matter how many times he said they ought to get married. Married. To Ratboy. What could he be thinking? He wasn't the type to get married. No, he was like ice cream - wonderful while it lasted, but not meant to be around for long. 

 

Ice cream. Her Ratboy. Ice cream was three dollars. Could she? Did she dare? She was so lost in the mental debate that she didn't see the other shopping cart moving down the condiment aisle until --- 

 

CRASH! 

 

"Oh! I'm so ---- Ratboy... ." Oh, Ratboy. And he was wearing the world's tightest jeans, with the beginnings of a hole just to the left of the crotch. 

 

"Pardon me, but do you have any Grey Poupon?" 

 

A leering smile from her delicious Ratboy and her underwear was going to have to be wrung out. Her hand reached out of its own accord and snatched a jar from the shelf. 

 

"Ever do it in a meat locker, Feldman?" Krycek bolted the door from the inside and looked her over. She was so excited to see him, she couldn't even speak. That was good. Really good. 

 

Feldman shook her head, her hand still clutching the jar of mustard. 

 

Oh, she wanted him bad. He supposed he should take a couple of minutes and ask about the half million dollars she took from their numbered Japanese account, maybe bitch that she left without saying goodbye or even thanks for the wardrobe. Instead, he let her take a good, long look at what she had been missing for almost a month. "Feldman." 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"I've got a nice, big Polish sausage for you." 

 

"I thought you weren't Polish." 

 

"I'm not, but you insist on believing it anyway." 

 

"It's cold in here ---" 

 

"I'll keep you warm." 

 

"No," she said, quickly, "I meant, well, you know, doesn't cold effect your... uh... performance?" 

 

"Russian, Feldman. We're cold-weather people." 

 

Feldman looked like the cat who was about to swallow the canary. She held up the jar of mustard she was still clutching. "Mind if I lick this off you?" 

 

That's what he loved about her - she knew how to play the game. 

 

"I can't find my pantyhose or my underwear." 

 

Krycek rubbed his eyes and then looked down at her. "Don't worry about it." 

 

"Those were Calvin Klein pantyhose, Alex. Eight bucks a pair." Two-fifty at Filene's, but there was no need to tell him that. 

 

"Here. Buy a new pair." He stuffed a wad of cash into her hand. 

 

Just what she was hoping for. Money. Rent. Ellen counted out the bills, not caring if he watched. One hundred. Two. Three. Four. Five. Not enough for rent. She needed another hundred and fifty. "My underwear was Natori." 

 

"Your underwear was a pair of cotton Jockey for Her," he countered, snatching the cash from her hand. "Greed doesn't become you, Feldman, but since you were so creative with that mustard, I'll take you shopping myself. No more cotton panties for you, understand?" 

 

That was supposed to make her feel good. He liked to buy her things. She liked when he bought her things. But if she got evicted, she and her things would be out on the street. Ellen stared longingly at the cash in his hand. How could she make him give it to her? 

 

"I ought to make you pay, Feldman. You've got half a mill of my money ---" 

 

"No, I don't! And it's our money. You said so." 

 

"Okay, our money and yes, you do. You took it from our numbered account ---" 

 

"And it's tied up in investments for our retirement." There. Talk business. That could calm her down enough while she figured out a way to get him to give her rent money. "I put some into a Cayman corporate account. A small percentage went into a venture capital fund that's already generated a nine percent return, and that's just in a month. I've organized it so that the taxes are minimal and the money flows to us through a trust I've set up, but that doesn't kick in for another ten years." 

 

"You tied up our money?" 

 

"It can all be liquidated in a day, Alex. I made sure we had liquidity because, well, your lifestyle ---" 

 

"Not bad. How much did you keep for yourself?" 

 

"Four thousand. But you got that much back already." What if he asked for the four grand back? She didn't even have four dollars. And he was still holding the five hundred, waving it in her face. 

 

Krycek pocketed the cash without breaking eye contact with her. He must have smelled how desperate she was because he said, "Spill, Feldman. What do you really need the money for?" 

 

"Rent." There. She said it. "My apartment. My office. Groceries and food for Winky. I owe the vet sixty bucks and I'm behind almost six months on student loans and my three hundred dollar license fee is due this month and if I don't pay it, they revoke my license to practice, not that it matters because I'm being sued for malpractice because when that wrinkly guy sent me with that briefcase, I didn't file a motion and we lost the case and now I'm being sued and I just lost a big client because he's a misogynist bastard who fired me because I was a woman and didn't even pay me for the work I did and ----" 

 

"Okay, okay. Jeez, shut up and let me think for a second." He frowned at her, watching her shiver from the cold of the meat locker. "How much do you need to get through the month?" 

 

"A grand." 

 

"How much is rent?" 

 

"Six-fifty." 

 

"For that dump? You live over a bodega!" 

 

"You think I didn't look for something cheaper?!" And how did he know where she lived - never mind. He could find out anything. 

 

Krycek grinned at her. "Of course you did, princess. Take me there. I want to see what my money is paying for." 

 

He was going to give her the money! Hooray! But he wanted to see her apartment. "I don't have any furniture, Alex. I sold it to make my security deposit." 

 

"You want the money? Take me there." 

 

"But ---" 

 

"It's your home and I want to see it." 

 

Home? That dump? It was a place she crashed. "I don't have any food there, either." 

 

"We'll order in. And we can even order something for Winky." 

 

Winky had to eat. "All right." 

 

She was right. The place was a dump. How the hell did she live like this? A studio apartment. Her clothes hanging on racks, covered by plastic. Not a lick of furniture anywhere, other than the bed. Just a couple of large Rubbermaid containers, which she seemed to be using for nightstands. And there were roach baits in the corners. 

 

This place had to be her worst nightmare. He watched her bend down to scoop the litter box, sneaking a glance at him. Feldman had to be wondering whether he was going to fork over the money. She was going to have a surprise coming. 

 

He came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. Feldman arched back against him with a purr of contentment, echoed by Winky who was rubbing against his ankles. 

 

"Feldman." 

 

"Mmmmm." 

 

"I'm not giving you a nickel for this place.' 

 

"What?!" Just as he predicted, she wrenched free and spun around, eyes shooting sparks that were the beginning of a temper tantrum. "You promised ---" 

 

"You oughtta know better than to trust me." Before she could hurl any of her colorful epithets, he used his Mesmerizing Smile on her. It froze her in place. "Start packing. You're going to stay with me until we can find you suitable accommodations." 

 

"I can't afford suitable accommodations, Alex." God, what an act she had. Puppy dog eyes stared at him balefully. "My clients are deadbeats and the law firms don't want to hire me because I got fired from my last job." 

 

Oh, how tragic her life was. So sad. And she was resorting to using his first name and making doe-eyes at him. "Pack your stuff and we'll talk about it when we get home." 

 

If Feldman was a dog, her ears would be perked up and her tail would be wagging. Home, Feldman. A ride in the car. Yes, Feldy. Good, Feldy. Beg, Feldy. "Okay... " 

 

Feldman. Dog. That inspired a quick fantasy of her on her hands and knees and, as usual, his jeans, which were already too tight, were almost unbearable. There was time for a quickie. "Hey, Feldman. Nice bed. Wanna show me your designer sheets?" 

 

Ellen set the cat carrier down and unlatched the door, letting Winky out. He immediately jumped up into the bay window and mewed excitedly. She was tempted to mew excitedly herself. Krycek's townhouse was gorgeous. 

 

"Do you rent or own?" 

 

"Own. You like?" 

 

Oh. Yes. "It has potential." 

 

"Does it need a woman's touch," he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

 

Forget the townhouse. Krycek needed a woman's touch. Her touch. "Yeah. Where's the bedroom?" 

 

"Again?" 

 

"I didn't mean it that way." Yes, she did. Oh, yes she did. "I want a tour." 

 

"In that case, why don't we start with the kitchen?" 

 

No! Bedroom. She wanted to see if it was a four-poster bed. "Alex... " 

 

"Ellen?" More than a hint of teasing in his voice. 

 

"A-lex." 

 

"Yes?" 

 

"How come you don't want me to see the bedroom?" There. Now he looked like the one avoiding it. 

 

Krycek shifted his weight to one leg and glanced towards the stairs. "Things happen in there, Feldman." 

 

"What kind of things?" 

 

"How bad do you want to know?" 

 

"Not that bad." 

 

"Then go check out the kitchen." 

 

Oooh! Jerk. "Make me." 

 

"Make you do what?" He was close now, his finger hooking into the waist of her jeans. Green eyes met brown and a silent battle of wills raged. "Make you cook? Make you clean? Make you come?" 

 

"You make me sick." 

 

"Do I, now?" Pop. There went the top button of her jeans. 

 

"Yeah." 

 

"Do you feel faint?" Zip. Her fly was undone and he shoved his hand down the front of her stretch denim Levi's. She needed stretch denim for moments like these. 

 

"No." 

 

Krycek grinned as he touched her, his finger teasing her but not penetrating. "How about now?" 

 

"No." Ellen wriggled, trying to get his finger where she wanted it, but he kept it just out of reach. Bastard. She hated when he made her ask. 

 

"I'll bet if I slip that finger in, you'll come. What do you think?" 

 

"I don't think so. Fingers don't get me off." Not like eight-inch cocks, wielded ever so skillfully. 

 

"Okay." He released her and backed away, licking his finger. "Suit yourself. I'm going to order dinner. You want Chinese?" 

 

 

What a prick! How dare he tease her like that! Well, two could play THAT game. "No." 

 

"Italian?" 

 

"No." 

 

"Thai?" 

 

"Uh-uh." 

 

"We're running out of ethnic groups that deliver, kitten." 

 

"I know one that delivers. One that's right in the neighborhood, as a matter of fact." Ellen moved close enough to smell the Aqua di Gio, to feel his heat, to cup him through his jeans. "You'd like it. It's Kosher. You like eating Kosher, Alex?" 

 

"Almost like eating Russian, wouldn't you say?" 

 

It was an amazing display of self-control. He was hard as a rock, but he wasn't doing anything, just passively letting her stroke him through the denim. Her Ratboy was playing with her. "Are you asking me for something?" 

 

"Yeah, I'm asking what you want for dinner." 

 

"Well, what do you want?" Please, somebody make a decision because she'd just soaked through her jeans and the stain was very noticeable. Not to mention the smell. 

 

"You're my guest, Feldman. You make the choice." 

 

No! This couldn't be happening. Usually, by now, Mulder would have had his mouth full. She never had to ask for it with Mulder. Why did Krycek have to do this to her? Why didn't he just get the hint? 

 

"Well?" 

 

"I want... " How could she phrase it so she got exactly what she wanted? Ah, yes. "I'd like to feed you first, honey. A nice, Kosher meal." 

 

"I've eaten Kosher before. Very tasty. But we can't have you go hungry now, can we?" 

 

Was he suggesting --- Oh, that would be fun! Would the height difference be a problem? No, not when he was that well-hung. "I suppose not." 

 

"How about dinner in bed?" 

 

Yes! At least she got her way somehow.


	2. part 2

They stared at each other warily, Krycek standing by the left side of the bed and Ellen on the right. Winky lay in the center of the bed, snoring, his tiny white paws twitching as he dreamed. 

 

It was Ellen who broke the silence. "Okay, now what?" 

 

"What do you mean, now what?" 

 

"Usually, this is the part where one of us is supposed to get dressed and go home." She shifted her weight to one leg. "Since you live here, that'd be me." 

 

"I told you, Feldman, you can stay until ---" 

 

"And I told you I can't afford anything better than what I've got. I can barely afford that." It was only ten forty-five. They'd been screwing continuously since six and now having exhausted themselves, scarfed down a couple of sandwiches and showered, it was obvious to Ellen that neither one of them knew what to do next. "I'll take Winky home in the morning." 

 

Krycek arched an eyebrow. "Don't you want to stay here?" 

 

"What are you asking me?" She knew what he was asking, but she wanted to hear him say the words. 

 

"You know." 

 

"Nope." 

 

"Okay, Feldman, if you need an engraved invitation, here goes." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Wanna shack up?" 

 

"Are you nuts?! We'd kill each other in a day!" 

 

"Jesus!" Krycek growled in exasperation. "If you were gonna say no, why the hell did you make me ask?" 

 

"But I'm right! We would!" She wanted to hear him say he would make it work, that they'd be a happy couple or some kind of baloney like that. 

 

"Probably." He shrugged carelessly. 

 

Ellen couldn't believe this. That was it? No convincing argument? "Fine, I'll leave now. I have a meeting in the morning anyway." 

 

"There's a bus stop two blocks down." 

 

"You're not even gonna offer to drive me?" 

 

"Nah, you can handle yourself if anything happens." He dropped down onto the bed, staring at her, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. "You still carry that mace, right?" 

 

Wasn't he even going to lend her a gun? Apparently not. Jerk. "Right. Whatever. C'mon, Winky. Let's go home." 

 

Winky stretched, licked the tip of his tail, stretched again and closed his eye, feigning sleep. 

 

"Winky!" Fine. She'd stuff him in the carrier after she got dressed. Ellen shot Krycek another dirty look stalked downstairs and grabbed her overnight bag. Within seconds, she was dressed in a T shirt and shorts. He still wasn't trying to stop her. She grabbed the carrier and went back upstairs. 

 

Winky heard the rattling sound, leaped off the bed and then under it. 

 

"Sonofa --- Winky! Come on! Get out from under there!" The furry little traitor. Just because Krycek had central air conditioning... 

 

"Myeh!" 

 

"Winky, let's go home. Now!" 

 

"Mew?" 

 

Krycek chuckled softly. "C'mere, Winky." 

 

The cat poked his head out from under the bed. "Mew?" 

 

"Come here," Krycek soothed. "Come to Alex, Winky." 

 

And to Ellen's irritation, Winky did. He leaped right up onto Krycek's chest, purring madly. 

 

"Go home, Feldman. I'll drop Winky by in the morning." 

 

"I'm not leaving without my cat." She made sure to emphasize the 'my' in that sentence. 

 

"Leave him, kitten. He's not bothering me." 

 

"No! You have no idea how to take care of him!" 

 

"Sure I do. Fresh chicken, fresh turkey and that cat dancer thing. And scoop the litter box." Krycek stroked Winky under the chin and the cat began purring even louder. "Don't slam the door on your way out." 

 

How did he do this? How did he make it so she would have to ask him if she could stay? What happened to the scenario where he begged her to stay with him? Besides, if she went back now, she ran a good chance of bumping into her landlord who was on the lookout for her rent. Which she didn't have. Unless... 

"Alex?" 

 

"Ellen?" There was more than a hint of mockery in his voice. 

 

"Can I borrow six hundred and fifty dollars?" 

 

"No. You'll never be able to pay me back." 

 

"I've got a client who owes me twelve hundred ---" 

 

"Your clients are deadbeats, kitten. You said so yourself." 

 

He wouldn't lend her the money. She couldn't believe it! Her Ratboy was being cheap. Unless... Maybe she needed to ask a different question. "Alex?" 

 

"Yes, Ellen?" 

 

"Would you be kind enough to give me six hundred and fifty dollars for my rent?" 

 

"Give you?" Krycek clucked with displeasure. "You want me to give you six hundred and fifty dollars?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"No." 

 

"You cheap sonofabitch! I'm going to get evicted because you can't give me a lousy six ---" 

 

"It sounds like you need a place to stay, then, doesn't it?" 

 

"I'm sure Mulder would let me stay with him." 

 

"You think so?" 

 

No, but she could lie, couldn't she? "Absolutely." 

 

"Okay. Bye." 

 

The bedside clock now said eleven ten. "What time do the buses stop running?" 

 

"Eleven." 

 

"It's after. Gimme money for a cab, you inconsiderate louse." 

 

"If you ask nicely, you can sleep on the couch." 

 

The couch? The couch?! "What if I don't ask nicely?" 

 

"You'll be hitching home." 

 

Her neighborhood. After eleven. With a lousy can of mace. Yeah, right. She moved closer to the bed. "I changed my mind. I'll stay the night." 

 

"I thought you wanted to leave." 

 

"I'm too tired to schlep home. Shove over." 

 

"There's a guest room down the hall." 

 

"Shut up and move over." 

 

"Make me." 

 

"Those are famous last words, Ace." 

 

"Are they, now?" 

 

"Oh, yes, indeed." 

 

It was the sound that woke him first and then he was aware of the mouth sucking on the head of his cock, a tongue moving downward with exquisite, deliberate licks. How long had it been since a woman woke him up that way? Too long and never quite that expertly. Krycek sighed contentedly and didn't bother opening his eyes. "Good morning to you, too, kitten." 

 

"Mornin', Ace." 

 

Then he heard it again. An odd 'snikt'. Krycek bolted upright, nearly toppling Feldman, who was holding a tiny purse-sized tape measure to his cock. It had to be the weirdest thing he'd ever seen and it took every ounce of self-control not to laugh at her. "Why are you measuring my cock, Feldman?" 

 

"I... uh, well... " She was blushing a delightful shade of red and then she found some hidden reserve of strength, hitting him with what he secretly called her 'lawyer face'. "My mother told me never to talk with my mouth full." 

 

She dived down onto him and proceeded to give him an expert blowjob. Who could argue with logic like that? He sank back down onto the pillow and stroked the back of her neck while she did some incredible things with her tongue. Most of the men and women he'd been with had marveled at his size, but trust Feldman to be the first to actually whip out a ruler. If he'd been a fraction less than eight inches, would she have sued him for fraud? Probably. 

 

Her delicate little, French-manicured hands wandered up to his chest, teasing his nipples and then worked their way back down to his balls while she continued to suck, lick and tease his cock with her mouth. Feldman's long, dark curly hair tickled him in a decidedly erotic way. 

 

And then she did something even more unexpected. Feldman began to give him a 'hummer' and he could swear the song was "Lawyers, Guns and Money." 

 

"Ahhh, Feldman, that's nice." 

 

It got even better as she took all of him into her mouth, down her throat and then --- abruptly pushed herself away from him, gagging and choking. 

 

"Feldman?" 

 

"I'm fine," she coughed. 

 

He sat up and tried not to laugh. He failed. "Are you okay?" 

 

"Yeah, fine," she coughed. "Peachy." 

 

So close. So damned close to coming. Was she going to finish the job? It wasn't as if he could come out and ask her. At least not until she stopped coughing. Absently, he stroked his erection, waiting for her. Feldman stopped coughing and was watching him intently, her lips parted slightly, eyes focused on his hand's movement. Up and down. Slow, steady firm strokes. Oh yes, this was turning her on. 

 

"You can help, if you want, Feldman." C'mon, c'mon, finish the job. 

 

"No, I wanna watch, Ratboy." 

 

Again with the Ratboy. Ah, never mind. He couldn't believe Feldman was having such a good time watching him get himself off. Unfortunately, the show wasn't going to last much longer. In fact... oh, yes... there we go... ahhhh... nice... 

What the hell - Was she applauding his performance?! Apparently so. He sat up and sighed contentedly. Feldman sighed, too. Time to put her on the hot seat. "Your turn, kitten. I want to watch you make yourself come." 

 

"No," she said, quickly. "I'm late for work." 

 

"It's Saturday." 

 

"Doesn't matter. I've got a deposition at ten." She leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I've gotta go get ready." 

 

"Feldman!" 

 

And there she went, fleeing into the bathroom. 

 

"You're really going to work, aren't you?" 

 

"The stenographer's fee is non-refundable and this was the only day we could get the defendant to agree to." Ellen hooked her bra and reached for her pantyhose. She was running late. Her fault for not kicking him out of the shower or not saying no when he kneeled in front of her and did that thing with his tongue again. She really needed to work on that willpower problem she had. "Can you watch Winky until I come to pick him up later?" 

 

"Don't start that again," Krycek groaned. "Stay the weekend and we'll figure things out on Monday." 

 

Her Ratboy wanted her to stay! Which was good, because her landlord was probably changing the locks by now. "Okay." 

 

"Kitten... " 

 

Why did he insist on calling her that ridiculous name? "Yes, my Ratboy?" 

 

"Can I come with you?" 

 

"You wouldn't want to. This is a long boring question and answer thingie and the opposing counsel is a horse's ass. A pompous, chauvinistic horse's ass. I'm going to love making him look stupid at the trial." She slid into her blouse and buttoned it carefully. "Besides, you don't have a suit." 

 

"The hell I don't. I've got a couple of Armani suits hanging in that closet behind you." 

 

"Alex, please, I'm sure you've got things you need to do." 

 

"Come on, Feldman, you begged, pleaded and gave me head until I agreed to take you with me. Why can't you reciprocate?" 

 

"Because what I do is boring," she blurted. Ellen gave herself a mental kick. She'd better not do this in front of Posner or she was going to get eaten alive by that Harvard-educated windbag. A deep, calming breath as she zipped up her skirt. "I'm doing a deposition with an insurance company, Alex. I'm deposing a claims examiner and her supervisor and four other Ivy-League dinks. We're gonna be knee-deep in jargon and you'd be so bored you'd probably shoot them." 

 

"Actually, it sounds fascinating." He pulled a navy blue suit from the closet. "I'm coming with you. My mother always thought I'd make a good lawyer." 

 

"Alex." 

 

"Ellen." 

 

"Alex?" Wow. Was that her Ratboy, looking so hot in that double-breasted navy suit? Of course he wasn't wearing any underwear. He never wore any. And that suit really was an Armani. She was going to have to get him to bend over later so she could check out his ass. Maybe a game of senior partner and junior associate was in order later... Yeah, her Ratboy would make a delicious first year associate and she already knew how persuasive his oral arguments could be. "Well, I suppose if you promise to be quiet... " 

 

"I promise." More than a hint of humor in those eyes. "Kitten, do my tie for me, will you?" 

 

Her nose wrinkled as she snatched the tie from his hand. Icky stripes. Nope. Not on her Ratboy. She rummaged through his tie rack - wow, a whole five of them - and found a tie she didn't hate. Much. There was going to be a lesson about how to pick out ties in the near future. She looped it around his neck and leaned in very, very close. Mmmm. He smelled good. "Let's see now. The rabbit goes through the hole and around the tree and comes out... yeah, there we go. Something's missing." 

 

"Such as?" 

 

She stepped back and looked at him. "Repeat after me, 'pro hac vice'." 

 

"What the hell does that mean?" 

 

"Just say it." 

 

"Pro hac vice." 

 

Yeah, baby. Definitely a game of junior associate later. All she had to do was keep her mind on the deposition until then. 

 

"I can't believe you did that!" 

 

"All I did was ask one simple question, Feldman." 

 

"You asked the wrong one." 

 

"All I asked was -" 

 

"You never ask a question you don't know the answer to. Ever! And I thought we agreed you weren't going to say anything!" 

 

Krycek glared at the small lawyer as he tossed his suit jacket onto the bed. Why was it okay for her to come along on his jobs and botch them all to hell but let him ask one simple question and she was biting his damned head off?! "I was trying to help." 

 

"You helped me look like an idiot in front of that prick, Posner and his cronies." Feldman threw her pumps across the bedroom. Winky leaped from the bed and left in search of quieter spaces. "Do you have any idea how much research I'm going to have to do to counteract the damage you just did? I'm going to have to rely on a policy argument and-" 

 

"Do me a favor and stop spewing legalese for ten seconds, Feldman." She'd been bitching the entire ride home. If she didn't shut up, it was going to be impossible not to smack her across that big mouth. 

 

"This case is the biggest one I've ever ---" 

 

He grabbed her by the lapels of her navy blue designer suit and pulled her to him, pressing his lips down on hers savagely. It was the only way he could think of not to hit her and frankly, as angry as he was, the bickering was giving him the world's biggest hard-on. He rubbed it against her, knowing full well she could feel his arousal through those thin, Armani dress pants. 

 

Feldman's hands tore at his pants, freeing him, stroking him. 

 

God, that was wonderful. He didn't feel like hitting her any more. Now all he wanted to do was bend her over the bed and dominate her. Just this once. 

Feldman was having none of it. She pushed him. Hard. And to his utter amazement, he fell backwards onto the bed. She straddled him and tore open his shirt. The buttons rolled across the hardwood floor. 

 

"That shirt was an Armani, Feldman." 

 

"I'll buy you a new one." 

 

Oh God, she was raking her nails lightly over his chest, biting at his nipples. Why the hell was he still wearing the damned tie? Unfortunately, Feldman was holding onto it like a leash while she nipped her way down his torso. 

 

He reached for her but she swung herself over to his left side, just out of reach while she shed her suit. "Bad little junior associate. Next time you listen to the senior partner or you're fired." 

 

Junior associate? Senior partner? So that's what 'pro hac vice' was all about. His mind scrambled back to his procedure classes at the FBI Academy, searching for whatever legal terms he could remember. Uh-oh, she was licking at him and his mind was rapidly going blank. 

 

Feldman reached up and undid the tie, draping it over her shoulders. "You've been a very naughty little associate, Alex. You're behind on your billable hours and I can see you don't have any briefs for me to look at." 

 

"Please don't fire me. I need this job." Was this what she wanted? A game of sexual harassment, lawyer style? 

 

"We hired you because you gave persuasive oral arguments, Alex. We expected the rest of your work would improve over time. I must say, we are very, very disappointed. Look at what you're wearing, for heaven's sake." 

 

Yeah, look at him. Still wearing the suit that had her drooling all afternoon. Well, hanging out of the suit, actually. If he had any idea the sight of him all dressed up would drive her this crazy, he'd have put one on sooner. "Should I take it off?" 

 

"By all means." 

 

"Better?" 

 

Her eyes wandered appreciatively over his naked body while her hands closed over his wrists, crossing flesh over prosthetic. "Jerry Garcia ties are tacky and unprofessional, Alex." 

 

"Yes, ma'am." She was tying him up with it! Yes! Oh, yes! This was getting better by the second. Hmm. He was going to have to teach her how to tie better knots than this half-assed square knot. 

 

Feldman pushed him back down on the mattress. "I have my doubts about your abilities, Alex. Maybe your oral abilities weren't that good." 

 

Oooooh. A challenge. "Would you like me to demonstrate?" 

 

"I think so. Please explain the holding in Pennoyer versus Neff." 

 

What the hell was a Pennoyer?! Or a Neff, for that matter. And did she really expect him to talk about cases?! "The holding." 

 

"Yes. The holding." 

 

This was like a demented episode of 'The Paper Chase' and it was turning him on like nobody's business. "I... I don't recall that case." 

 

"That's because you didn't do the research that I assigned you. What ever am I going to do with you, Alex?" 

 

"Maybe I can argue on my own behalf?" 

 

"Go ahead." 

 

He did. With his hands tied. Well, maybe his briefing and research skills sucked but his oral arguments still won the day if the squeals and whimpers of the lawyer sitting on his face were any indication. 

 

Finally, she collapsed next to him, with a satisfied sigh. "Well, Alex, it looks like you get to keep your job." 

 

Not a moment too soon, either. His tongue was starting to cramp and his neglected hard-on was starting to insist on some relief. He slipped out of the poorly knotted tie and trailed the tip across Feldman's stomach. She giggled - actually giggled! -- and slapped at his hand. God, it was too cute. Feldman was acting like a girl. "We're not done yet, Feldman." 

 

"Forget it, Ratboy. You're not tying me up with that fashion disaster." The tie was yanked from his hands and tossed across the room. "Besides, you've tied me up way too many times already." 

 

How could he get what he wanted from her? Ah, yes. "There's a pressing legal issue we need to discuss, Feldman." 

 

"Really?" 

 

"Yeah." Him. Pressing down on her. Feldman's legs wrapped around him, encouraging him, trapping him. Perfect. Oh, god, she was wet and hot and --- 

 

"Stop! Get out!" 

 

"What?" He withdrew, confused. 

 

"Condom. Put on a condom." 

 

"You're on the pill, Feldman." 

 

"Yeah... but... " 

 

"But what?" 

 

"You like guys." She slid out from under him and drew her knees up to her chest. "I'm worried about STDs." 

 

How the hell did she find out about that?! "What do you mean, I like guys, Feldman?" 

 

"You were drunk and you told me you like men. You told me you kissed Mulder. You asked if I wanted to be in the middle of an FBI sandwich. You told me not to be mad because you like men, too, because I'm your favorite. Any of this ringing a bell?" 

 

Oh. Shit. Served him right for getting drunk in the first place. Time for some damage control. "I kissed Mulder on the cheek." 

 

"You'd fuck him if you could," she exploded. "How the hell do you expect me to react to you telling me you have a crush on my ex-boyfriend? I could handle it if you were jealous, if you wondered if his dick was bigger than yours or something stupid like that, but I have a real problem when I wonder if you fantasize about fucking him while you're fucking me." 

 

"Kitten, come on, you know I ----" 

 

"I know you like men, you sonofabitch!" 

 

"I like you, too, Feldman." 

 

"You keep asking me to marry you. You want me to live with you. You want that? You give up men." 

 

"The men are part of my job, kitten. They mean nothing to me." Wait a second. Just men? "What about the women? I have to screw women for work, too." 

 

"You slut!" Feldman leaped out of the bed and glared at him. "And they talk about how lawyers screw people for money. What do you screw for, Krycek? Oily aliens?" 

 

And there she went, avoiding his question. Rather offensively, too. "What about the women, Feldman?" 

 

"What about the men?!" 

 

"What about the killing? You don't have a problem with me killing people?" 

 

"End of conversation, Ratboy. I'm going back to my slum." She slammed the bedroom door behind her. 

 

Women and murder, no problem. Men? Problem. Feldman was one screwed-up chick. How the hell was he going to get her back?


	3. part 3

There was nothing he hated worse than the few days a month when Scully had PMS. Mulder was positive that the headaches she complained about paled in comparison to the ones she gave him when she screamed about the unfairness of it all. Unfair that she got bloated. Unfair that she got cramps. Unfair that she couldn't have kids, but like clockwork, every 28 days --- His next partner was going to be a man. 

 

All he did was suggest that if she hated getting her period so much, she should get everything removed. It was just a suggestion but it set Scully off like a broken alarm clock without an 'off' switch and she started shouting medical jargon and statistics at him, eventually concluding her argument by hurling her tape dispenser at him. 

 

As usual, she didn't miss. 

 

How the hell was he going to explain the bump on his head? 

 

Mulder sighed and slid his key into his lock, hoping he hadn't already eaten his emergency box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese that he kept hidden in his cupboard. He could practically taste that orange imitation cheese now... 

 

Whoa! A horrible smell assaulted his nostrils even before he turned the key. It smelled like a cat had sprayed his front door. And like pot. Cheap pot. Had to be coming from the new neighbors down the hall. College kids. If the smell didn't go away by the time he added the margarine, he'd knock on the door and wave his badge. 

 

Waaaaaaaoooooowwwhhh. 

 

What the hell ---! A large orange striped cat hissed as Mulder walked into the apartment. It was a huge, one-eyed tabby that was missing part of an ear. And, judging by the way the apartment smelled, the cat was an un-neutered tom. 

 

The pot smell grew stronger as he neared his bedroom. Mulder drew his gun and peeked in. There, sprawled on his bed was a very drunk, slightly high Alex Krycek. "What the hell are you doing here?!" 

 

Krycek regarded him through bloodshot eyes. "Feldman's pissed at me." 

 

"And you're here because... ?" 

 

"You're the only one who understands." Krycek took another toke from the joint and held it out to Mulder. "Have some?" 

 

Mulder snatched the joint and threw it down the toilet. "Explain the cat." 

 

"It reminded me of Winky. I found him in an alley on my way over and I thought it'd be a nice present for you. You must miss the little guy and ---" 

 

Just then the tom ran into the room carrying one of Mulder's fish in its mouth, which it dropped at Mulder's feet with another yowl. 

 

That was the final straw for the federal agent. "Get out." 

 

"Aww, c'mon, Mulder, you're the only one I can talk to about this. What do you do when she's pissed, Mulder? Fucking her won't help. She doesn't want to fuck... at least not without a condom ----" 

 

"And who could blame her, considering it's you?" Mulder grabbed Krycek by his good arm and dragged him to his feet. 

 

"But Feldman's such a bitch ---" 

 

"And now she's your bitch. You wanted her, you've got her. Enjoy and get the hell out of my apartment." 

 

Krycek grabbed Mulder's tie with his prosthetic hand. "Y'know why she's pissed?" 

"Because you're slime?" 

 

"Because I like men." The triple agent rested his cheek against Mulder's shirt. "I told her I kissed you and she thinks we're fucking, Mulder. She's so jealous, so damned jealous... You wanna fuck, Mulder?" 

 

Why him? Why? What did he do to deserve this? Oh, that's right. He had a brief relationship with Ellen Feldman. "Krycek, why don't you go home to Feldman and bring her a dozen really expensive roses and ----" 

 

"I'd be gentle with you, Mulder," Krycek slurred, his hand dropping to Mulder's crotch, stroking him through the thin layer of wool and cotton boxers. "And it wouldn't affect my relationship with Feldman. I like her best, so you'd have to live with that, but you'd have a real special place ---" 

 

"Please, Krycek, get the hell out." He slapped Krycek's hand away before the other man noticed the effect he was having. It was too damned weird, Feldman sleeping with Krycek, Krycek asking for sex... All he wanted was imitation cheese and look at this! 

 

Krycek swayed slightly, cocking his head to one side and offering Mulder a drunken smile that nevertheless was mesmerizing. "She'd never know, Mulder, and I'd be so sweet to you, you'd love it and ----" 

 

"Get. Out." He steered Krycek to the door, opened it and unceremoniously tossed the man into the hallway. Mulder shut the door, locked it and leaned against it. Now all he had to do was call animal control about the cat... 

 

His head was killing him. Had he really propositioned Mulder last night? And was it his imagination or did Mulder have a huge hard-on? Maybe that FBI sandwich wasn't an impossibility after all --- 

 

"Are you paying attention, Alex?" 

 

"Huh?" 

 

The smoker dropped the depleted Morley into his coffee cup, where it hissed upon impact with the cold coffee. "We were discussing the assignment." 

 

"Yeah, the assignment." It would be nice to get away for a while, get back to work, away from shrill lawyer-women. 

 

"I've arranged the plane tickets to New York -" 

 

"Wait. Did you say tickets? I only need one." 

 

"For Feldman, of course." The smoker casually lit another cigarette. "You've always requested to be partnered with her and now that she's amenable to the situation, by all means, bring her with you." 

 

"She's researching a big case." 

 

"Provide me with a copy of her files. I'll see to it that she wins." 

 

Would Feldman like that? He knew she'd like to go home to New York for a while. "I don't think it would be a good idea for her to meet Strughold, him being an ex-Nazi and all." 

 

"Then bring her as an indulgence." 

 

Why did he get the feeling the smoker wanted Feldman working for him? And why was he resisting the idea when it was his idea in the first place? "She may not want to go." 

 

"She'll want to go." 

 

Of course she would. 

 

New York City. Her favorite place in the world. Her Ratboy was by her side and they were here on business. Okay, to be fair, he was here on business, but he needed her, even if the didn't realize it. And how considerate her Ratboy was, finding a veterinary student to cat-sit her precious Winky. 

 

It was probably the strangest apology she'd ever gotten from anybody. Trust her Ratboy to apologize for ruining her case by offering to have it rigged for her. Considering how much she hated research and insurance law in general, she only let him squirm for ten minutes before she agreed and handed over the file. 

In return, he handed her a plane ticket, explained that she was coming with him as an observer only and that mostly, what she'd be doing was shopping. He then handed her money for her rent. 

 

Her Ratboy was learning fast. 

 

"So what's the job, Krycek," she asked, straining to keep up with him as they made their way along Fifth Avenue. 

 

"Just a meeting. A boring meeting." That was when he pushed her through the revolving door of Saks and guided her towards the store directory. A wad of cash was pressed into her hand and his lips brushed hers. "Here's a thousand, kitten. Meet me back here at six and we'll go out for dinner. You can pick the restaurant." 

 

"Why can't I go to the meeting? And why didn't you let me read the file?" 

 

"Don't start, Feldman. Just shop, will you?" 

 

"I don't wanna shop, I wanna go with you!" 

 

"Honey, there's no trouble for you to get into, so be a good girl and buy something silky to wear to bed tonight. Something subtle. Not your usual hooker get-up, okay?" 

 

Arguing was getting her nowhere. Well, there were other ways of getting what she wanted. She sighed. Someday, she would get that Oscar. "Oh, all right. Any special color?" 

 

"Sea foam green." He kissed her, long and hard and deep. "See you later." 

 

"Right. Later." She counted to three and then she followed him. Maybe he was a great operative, but he was operating on her home turf. And when it came to being covert in New York, nobody but nobody was better than Ellen Feldman. 

"You've been followed." 

 

Krycek regarded Conrad Strughold with cold green eyes. He didn't trust this man, didn't like him and really didn't want to be here, but this was his job and he knew what would happen if he turned down this assignment. "You mean the girl?" 

Strughold nodded. 

 

"Trainee. Don't worry about her." Damn Feldman for following him. It was embarrassing that he'd been unable to lose her, but then again, she knew these streets better than he did. He'd considered confronting her, sending her back to the hotel, but what was she going to see? Him having coffee with an ex-Nazi? Still, he was less than pleased with her right now. 

 

"She must be very new to this to be so obvious. I wonder where they would recruit such people from," Strughold commented. His eyes locked with Krycek's and the younger man felt his stomach clench. "I recall when you were that young, that inexperienced. Three years ago, wasn't it?" 

 

"Four years." That was one of the few encounters he'd have preferred to forget. Strughold had a fondness for floggers and handcuffs and four years ago, Alex Krycek had indeed been young and inexperienced. The smoker had selected him for Strughold for that very reason. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Feldman finish her iced coffee and signal for her check. Good. She was leaving. He'd rather she wasn't here for whatever followed. 

 

"And an eventful four years, nein?" A nod towards his damaged left arm. "I was pleased to hear that you were once again in our service." 

 

Krycek didn't miss the older man's emphasis on the last word. 

 

"Of course, Kurt kept me apprised of your whereabouts. He mentioned an... 

encounter in St. Petersburg. He's here in New York, you know. That's why I asked for you." 

 

Kurt? Here in New York? His cock twitched at the thought of the tall, blond, blue-eyed Aryan god. "And?" 

 

"There is some work to be done. Kurt suggested I ask for you. He would like to work with you again. As would I." The German finished his coffee and dabbed at his lips with the linen napkin. "I was unaware you were involved with your own trainee. If this is an inconvenience... " 

 

"Not at all." Strughold knew as well as he did that this was his assignment, that he wasn't supposed to refuse. As far as his 'trainee' went... well, if the smoker ever found out about it, he'd have a hell of a time explaining that why she was here, not waiting for him in the hotel like a good little 'indulgence' should have been. "I'm sure I can find an errand for her to run." 

 

"Good. Let us have some more coffee and get re-acquainted." 

 

"You're late." By an hour and fifteen minutes, she added silently. 

 

Krycek avoided the unspoken accusation neatly. "What'd you get?" 

 

"Couldn't find anything." Ratboy looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with Holyfield. What the hell had he and that old guy been doing all afternoon? She threw her arms around him and hugged him, sniffing carefully. Holy mackerel! She was right! She did smell somebody else's cologne on him. Her Ratboy smelled like Lagerfeld, sweat and... sex? With that old guy? Ewwww. 

 

Gently, he pushed her back, his eyes revealing nothing as they met hers. 

"Nothing?" 

 

Her hasty trip through Saks didn't turn up much. If there was a dress she liked, they didn't have it in her size. The lingerie department didn't have anything interesting either. She dug in her pocket for the money he gave her and handed it back to him. "Nothing." 

 

"You mind ordering in tonight, kitten? I've got a god-awful headache." 

 

"Well, there was this really cool restaurant in the Village I wanted to take you to and ----" 

 

"We can do it tomorrow." He guided her outside and hailed a cab. 

 

Her Ratboy was being awfully quiet. Ellen blew on her 'Barely There Blush' nail polish to make it dry faster and waited for him to come out of the shower. No sooner had they walked into the hotel room than he rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He'd been washing himself for almost forty minutes. 

 

The water finally stopped. The bathroom door opened and he came out, swathed in the thick terry-cloth hotel robe, carrying his prosthetic. 

 

"What do you think of this color," she asked, holding up her hands. Anything to break the silence... 

 

"It's okay." Krycek sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the phone. "I'm ordering from room service, kitten. What would you like?" 

 

"Grilled chicken Caesar and an iced tea, please, love." Did she just call him 'love'? Yikes. 

 

If he noticed it, he didn't give any indication. "Yeah, this is room 1023. We'd like a grilled chicken Caesar, an iced tea, a BLT and do you have any vodka? Stoli would be perfect. Great. Room 1023." 

 

Vodka? Uh-oh. Ellen turned in time to see him lay out a pair of green silk pajamas, a deep emerald color. He shed the robe and reached for the bottoms. That was when she saw the marks. 

 

No wonder he looked like hell. That old guy whipped her Ratboy. He mowed her lawn. And now she was pissed. She was going to get even with the old bastard somehow. Why in God's name did her Ratboy let the old guy do that to him? Her Ratboy could have kicked the old guy's ass, but it was obvious by the way he looked - not to mention the way he smelled earlier - that her Ratboy let this happen. Did he like it? 

 

Their eyes met, unspoken accusations in hers and something cold and hard and angry in his. 

 

"We need to talk," he said. 

 

"We most certainly do." 

 

The tense moment was broken by a nasal, Queens accent. "Room service." 

 

Krycek grabbed his wallet, opened the door, handed the kid a wad of cash and wheeled the cart in himself. 

 

"Shouldn't you have checked to see if it was really room service," Ellen asked. 

He glared at her for a moment and then wordlessly reached into his bag, produced a deadly-looking black gun and pressed it into her hand. "Here. You cover me next time." 

 

"I will." 

 

"You do that." 

 

"Fine." 

 

"Good." Krycek reached for the Stoli, opened it and treated himself to a deep, long drink from the bottle. "Why did you follow me?" 

 

"Did you have sex with that old guy?" 

 

"I asked you a question." 

 

"I asked a more important one." Ellen snatched the bottle from his hand and took a sip. God! How did he drink this stuff?! It made her eyes water and her nose run. 

 

Krycek took the bottle away from her and set it back down on the cart. "Don't test my patience today, kitten, I'm not in the mood." 

 

"Then you shouldn't have given me the gun." It was stuffed into the waistband of her Levi's, ready if necessary. "Now, Ratski, I'm waiting for an answer. Did you and that old guy have sex?" 

 

"You really want the answer?" He glared down at her, the color starting to return to his face. "Fine, kitten, here it is. Yes. We had sex. You want the details? You have to tell me why you followed me when I told you not to." 

 

"You know why I followed you." Because she worried about him. Because she cared about him. Because she lo--- 

 

"Because you don't know how to obey orders," he snapped. "That's going to hurt you, Feldman, and you don't even realize it ---" 

 

"I don't take orders from you, Ratboy ---" 

 

"You'd better start, honey, because sooner or later, they're going to want a return on their investment. You've taken way too much from them already. You've gotten the vaccine, you're letting them rig a case from you... you think you won't have to pay them back?" 

 

"I don't work for them." 

 

"Of course not. You do it for free." 

 

No! This wasn't about her. This was about him having sex with other men. "Do you love him, Alex?" 

 

"What?!" He took another swallow from the bottle. "No, Jesus, Feldman, stop being so damned dense. It was business, nothing more." 

 

"Was it good?" 

 

"Feldman, cut it out! I don't want to talk about this right now." The bottle was empty and he tossed it into the wastebasket, where it shattered. 

 

"So why did you bring me here? Comparison?" A whole bottle of Stoli and he was still standing. She'd be drunk for a month. 

 

"I was told to bring you, Feldman. The smoker told me to bring you," Krycek spat. "I'm a good soldier, kitten. I follow my orders to the letter. I was ordered to bend over for that old bastard and I did it. You think I liked having that sonofabitch's cock up my ass? You think I liked having him call me 'Russian filth' while he whipped me and choked me? You think I like that, Feldman? Do you?" 

 

"I don't understand ---" 

 

"Orders, Feldman. Obedience." Krycek's normally silky voice was tight and angry. "Strughold saw you today and you'd better hope he doesn't mention you to the smoker because as much as my Russian ass got him off, it'd be nothing compared to having a fresh, tight little piece of Jew ass like yours." 

 

Strughold. There was a name for her to research. She focused on it, filed it away and tried to ignore the impact of Krycek's words. "I wouldn't -" 

 

"You would and Strughold would gladly break you himself." 

 

"I'm leaving," she decided, reaching for her purse. If she had to hitch back to DC, she would. Anything to get the hell away from this sick existence that her Ratboy seemed to thrive in. "Do me a favor and don't ever call me again." 

 

"You need me, Feldman." 

 

"For what?" 

 

"To protect you from the Strugholds." He stabbed a finger into her chest. "They own you and if they think I'm finished with you, they're gonna give you to somebody else, you mark my words." 

 

"They can try." She closed the hotel door quietly behind her. The Port Authority wasn't that far away. If she walked, she'd have that much more money for a bus home. 

 

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." 

 

"I felt like seeing you tonight." He could hear the strains of Wagner playing in the background, could smell the incense burning. Sandalwood? Probably. 

The tall, blond man smiled down at him. "Come in." 

 

Just five inches difference between them, but Kurt von Rumohr was godlike while he... well, he was damaged goods these days. "You look wonderful." 

 

"As do you. Conrad is still here. Perhaps you would care to join us both tonight?" Impossibly blue eyes swept over him, pausing at the bulge in his jeans. 

 

Why did this man always have that effect on him? Why? Especially when Kurt was Strughold's special pet. And Strughold was here. Both of them tonight. Just like in Berlin in 1994. An involuntary shudder ran through him, but he suppressed it quickly. He could say no. He could leave. But he wanted Kurt and Strughold was just a minor inconvenience. Tomorrow, they would kill Strughold and the next, he would kill Kurt. 

 

Krycek smiled up at Kurt. They were making the mistake of thinking he was still inexperienced. They were going to regret that mistake.


	4. part 4

Three days and you'd think her Ratboy would have done something. A hang-up, an impromptu appearance somewhere, but nothing. She even stopped by the townhouse but he wasn't there. A small pile of flyers announced that he hadn't been there in days, so she let herself in, watered the plants, stole one of his shirts and left. 

 

Where the hell was he? 

 

Ellen shifted the bag of groceries to her other hand and let herself into her apartment. McGovern paid her yesterday and today, she bought groceries. Life was getting better. Granted, it was life without her Ratboy, but maybe she'd meet someone else. She had a knack for meeting interesting men in the oddest of circumstances. 

 

"Good evening." 

 

"Wha --?" The bag of groceries crashed to the floor as she grabbed her can of mace and switched on the light. 

 

The smoker was sitting on her bed, smoking peacefully. 

 

Ellen slammed the door and glared at him. "What did you do with my cat, you bastard?" 

 

"It's right behind you." 

 

She looked down. Winky was poking his head into the grocery bag. Okay, score one for the smoker. Ellen drew herself up. "What the hell do you want?" 

 

"I have a settlement from the insurance company. They'll pay fifty thousand to your client. Your client has already accepted and the money is being placed into your segregated account." The smoker stood up and took a deep drag from the Morley. "This apartment is a pitiful little sty." 

 

"I'm not the one who got me fired from the FBI, chief." 

 

"Aren't you?" 

 

"You tell me." She brushed the hair back from her face. "And you still didn't answer my question, Smokey. Somehow, I don't believe you're the Settlement Fairy." 

 

Cold, grey eyes regarded her with no small amount of amusement. "You ought to be more grateful for what I've given you, Ellen." 

 

"Which is what, exactly?" 

 

"Everything you've had since the day you met Fox Mulder." 

 

"Does that include that bout of food poisoning last August?" 

 

"Perhaps. Such things can be arranged and most often are." He died the cigarette out in one of her dishes, stubbing it out carefully. "A great deal of things in your life have been arranged." 

 

"Have they, now?" 

 

"Of course they were." 

 

"Well, gee, since you put it that way, thanks ever so." 

 

"I must say, Ellen, that I'm quite pleased with you." The smoker produced a fresh pack of Morleys and tore the red safety strip from the pack almost lovingly. "Your recent accomplishments in our service have been performed extraordinarily well." 

 

Service? Performance? Aha! This was about Krycek. They wanted her to get back together with Krycek. "What, exactly, do you want?" 

 

"It seems that there is an embarrassing situation that needs to be corrected discreetly." The smoker reached into his jacket again and handed her an envelope. "I'm sending you to recover Alex Krycek." 

 

"Recover him? From whom?" 

 

"You have the file. I suggest you read it and get to work before he's terminated." A golden cigarette lighter was flicked open to light the Morley that dangled from the smoker's mouth. "Let me know what supplies you think you'll need." 

 

"How about those black beret guys you have working for you?" 

 

"I beg your pardon?" 

 

"Why do I have to do this? You've got the whole stinking alphabet working for you, friend. Why me?" 

 

"Because you would get involved eventually." He blew a cloud of smoke into her face. 

 

"Okay, how much am I getting paid for this?" 

 

"You're not. You've been doing this for free for quite some time ---" 

 

"And living in a dump like this because of it," she snapped, reaching for his pack of Morleys. When was the last time she had a cigarette? College? As she lit it, she remembered why she quit - these things were vile. Despite that, she blew a perfect smoke ring at her guest. "Unless you add me to the payroll, you'd better find some other sucker to retrieve Alex." 

 

"How much?" 

 

"My usual fee is three hundred and fifty an hour," Ellen lied. Okay, she inflated it by a hundred, so what? 

 

"The services you provide can be purchased for about fifty dollars on most street corners." 

 

What a jerk! "I wasn't aware hookers did retrievals for you guys." 

 

"One hundred an hour." 

 

"Three." 

 

"Two." 

 

"Done. Plus expenses. And I might need some fake ID and guns and stuff." 

 

"Those expenses had better not include clothes or manicures." 

 

"Yeah, whatever." She took another puff from the cigarette. "One more thing." 

 

"With you, there always is." 

 

Ellen crushed the cigarette. God, this was her grandmother's fine china. She was probably rolling in her grave. "Alex is out of the service industry if I get him back, capisce?" 

 

"Are you volunteering to be sent in his place?" 

 

"No, I'm telling you that nobody mows my lawn." 

 

"The services Alex provides are part of his job and he renders them extraordinarily well." 

 

How did this bozo know? Did he mow her lawn, too? "Not anymore or no deal, Smokey." 

 

"He doesn't work for you, Ellen -" 

 

"He does now. From here on in, I pre-approve all the jobs you want to send him on. I've seen your files, friend, and I can spot the inaccuracies a mile away. Alex is mine. He services me and me alone and I pick his jobs." 

 

"Very well, Ellen, but understand that even if Alex works for you, you work for me -" 

 

"And I pick my jobs, too." Face it, there were limited types of things he could send her to do. "And I do not EVER service anybody, including and especially you." 

 

This elicited a dry chuckle from the smoker. "You're not my type." 

 

Thank God for small favors. "Okay, let's review this file together, shall we? And while we do, how about some coffee?" 

 

The only thing worse than Scully having PMS was Scully's first day of her period. She refused to take so much as an aspirin, instead she preferred to slam doors, bang coffee cups on desks and snap at everybody in sight and then wonder why they all asked if she was on the rag. 

 

And wouldn't you know it was just his luck that there wasn't even an autopsy to be performed today? He'd been so desperate to escape that he actually visited Skinner and volunteered to go over a couple of expense reports. Skinner took one look at the calendar, the date circled in red magic marker, and locked his office door, politely informing Kim that under no circumstances was Scully to be allowed in. His AD was many things, but he was no fool. 

 

Mulder turned the key in his lock and wondered if King Ying would deliver in the pouring rain. Sesame chicken and one of his movies sounded like a sure bet for tonight and --- oh damn it all to hell. 

 

There was a note on the floor. His hand immediately went to the gun holstered at his side and he decided not to bother bending down to read it. Besides, he could read the big block letters from here - YO! "Krycek, I'm not in the mood tonight ----" 

 

"You been mowing my lawn, Ace?" 

 

"Feldman?!" 

 

"The one and only." 

 

"Shit!" He turned on the lights to see the petite lawyer curled up on his couch, watching him intently. Mulder hesitated for a second and then drew his gun, aiming it at her. "Where's your other half?" 

 

"Put that thing away, Mulder. I'm not armed." She grinned at him, obviously unafraid. "Besides, you forgot to turn off the safety." 

 

He disengaged the safety. "I asked you a question, Feldrat, and I expect an answer." 

 

"Feldrat?" Ellen gave him a look that was innocence personified. "Oh, Mulder, are you jealous?" 

 

"You have exactly five seconds to answer me before I bust you for breaking and entering." 

 

Feldman sighed. "I'm here because I need your help." 

 

Did that mean she finally came to her senses and wanted to get away from Ratboy? "Do you?" 

 

"Alex is in trouble, Mulder, and I can't rescue him by myself." 

 

It took a full second for him to digest that. "Why are you bothering me with this, Feldman? I thought Carmine ----" 

 

"Carmine can't make an arrest, Mulder. That's where you come in." She held up a small manila envelope. "See, there's these Russian terrorists who are hiding in the embassy in New York and they're planning on giving germ warfare technology to these Serbian terrorists and I think that kind of falls into your jurisdiction. Mostly because the germ they want to use is something you've seen before, during one of your investigations. Here, look at the file." 

 

Gingerly, Mulder took the envelope and shook out the pictures inside. Damn. Crime scene photos showing the effects of the biotoxin Haley and Bremer were using. "Where did you get these, Feldman?" 

 

"Well, you know those guys Alex works for? They have all sorts of information and when Alex isn't around, I sneak through his stuff to see what those guys are up to. Some of it would make the hair on the back of your neck stand up, Mulder." Feldman examined her manicure with a frown. "Damn, I chipped a nail picking your locks." 

 

She was snooping through the Consortium's files and all she was worried about was her nail polish? "Why tell me?" 

 

"I thought maybe we could cut a deal. You help me, just this once, and maybe I can be your little informant." Her voice had more than a flirtatious lilt to it. "I'd say call me 'Deep Throat' but knowing your fascination with porn... " 

 

That was too tempting. Feldman was on the inside and she was offering him information, but could he still trust her? Probably not. Still, it was worth exploring. "Give me one good reason why I should help you rescue Krycek." 

 

"Because he helped you." 

 

"He also killed my father and Scully's sister." Mulder kept his voice neutral, despite what he still felt. "Did you know he experimented on prisoners in Tunguska?" 

 

"Oh, but Mulder," Feldman whined, her lower lip trembling, "I love him!" 

 

"You... love... Krycek?! Are you out of your mind? He kidnapped you! He shot you! He hit you and I barely stopped him from raping you once. How the hell can you say you love him?!" 

 

"He's changed." 

 

Stockholm Syndrome. It had to be Stockholm Syndrome. With a little shock therapy and maybe a frontal lobotomy, she'd be fine. "Yeah, he's worse than ever." 

 

"Oh, please, Mulder." Feldman was on her feet now, grabbing his tie, staring up at him with the most pitiful expression on her face. "Please say you'll get my sweet Alex back for me?" 

 

"Forget it, Feldman. If you need help, go to your cigarette-smoking godfather." 

 

"B-but, Mulder," she whined. 

 

Oh Christ, was she about to cry? He hated when she cried. "Feldman... " 

 

"Mulder, I'm pregnant." 

 

"What?!" 

 

Why the hell did she tell him that? Oh, but look it worked. Mulder was falling for it. He was checking out her stomach. "The doctor called this morning and confirmed that I'm six weeks along and Alex doesn't know. Mulder, please help me. You don't want my baby growing up without a father, do you?" 

 

"Look, Feldman... " Mulder finally slid the safety back into place and holstered his gun. "This can be fixed. Scully's got some friends who can get rid of it for you and I know people who can perform exorcisms or Indian chants or whatever else we need to ---" 

 

She dropped to her knees and grabbed his hand - yes, she should definitely be nominated for an Oscar. A few sniffles and Mulder was practically putty in her hands. "Please... I want this baby... I've never wanted anything this bad in my whole life... and Alex takes such good care of me... he'll be so happy about being a f-father... oh, Mulder, please... " 

 

"All right, all right, geez, Feldman." 

 

"Oh, Mulder, how can I ever repay you?" She threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face against the front of his pants. Well, well, well. Look who had a hard-on. And yes, it was smaller than her Ratboy's. 

 

"Get up, Feldman." He squirmed away from her, obviously embarrassed. 

 

She got to her feet and shot him another innocent look. "Now what do we do?" 

 

"Uh... we, uh... " Mulder cleared his throat. "We stop by my office so I can pull a couple of files." 

 

This was too easy. Wait 'til she told the smoker. Maybe he'd give her a bonus. 

How did he get himself into these things? Krycek lapped at the bowl of water and tried to ignore the screaming muscles in his back and neck. Every inch of his body ached, as well it should. He'd been beaten and fucked continuously for the past three days by Kurt and Strughold. 

 

This latest humiliation, being forced to eat and drink from dog bowls, wasn't as horrible as some of the things he had to endure at Strughold's hands, although he could have done without the kibble. He promised himself that if he ever got out of this and got a dog, he'd never make it eat that stuff. Now he knew why Feldman refused to feed Winky cat food. 

 

Feldman. Yes, there it was. The reason he was eating Purina and wearing a pink studded collar right now. If she hadn't been such a whiny pain in the ass, he wouldn't have gone running to Kurt and ended up in this mess. 

 

Ah. Who was he kidding? This would have happened anyway. His own damned fault for wanting to see Kurt and for forgetting that Kurt was loyal to Strughold and Strughold was loyal to the Project. And, it seemed, the Russians. 

 

Strughold, who hated anybody who wasn't Aryan (which included the Russians) didn't have a problem taking their money. They wanted Krycek and they were willing to pay Strughold a great deal for him, including the formula to the new and improved vaccine. All of which made Strughold one happy Nazi - money and the continuation of the Project, not to mention one less inferior Slav (namely, Alex Krycek) to worry about. 

 

And Kurt, who had been so tender in St. Petersburg, turned out to be as big a prick as his owner. As soon as Kurt mentioned that Strughold was still in the house, he should have turned and ran, but that would have blown his mission all to hell. They would have suspected. Instead, like a complete amateur, he let them strip him of his gun, his clothes and his prosthetic and maneuver him into their little makeshift dungeon. 

 

Krycek's stomach growled and he found himself considering the kibble again. God knew, he'd eaten worse in the silo in North Dakota. 

 

"Look, Kurt. Our puppy is awake." Strughold's voice, coming from the stairs. Moments later, the old man was just out of reach, holding that damned cattle prod. 

 

Krycek eyed him warily. He was still sore from yesterday's 'obedience lesson'. 

"I still see that defiant look in his eyes," Kurt said, coming up behind Strughold. "I don't think our lessons have taken hold." 

 

The suck-up. So much for all those promises in St. Petersburg. What a pleasure it was going to be to kill good old Kurt. 

 

"Kurt, do be a dear and fetch the puppy's choke collar and harness." 

 

"What about his muzzle, sir?" 

 

Yes, it would definitely be a pleasure to kill Kurt. 

 

"Bring the rest of the equipment as well. His show is coming up and we want our little Russian wolfhound to look his best." 

 

The rest of the equipment? Before his mind could wander through the possibilities, Strughold gave him a shot with the cattle prod. "Jesus!" 

 

"Yes, if I were you, young Alex, I would pray to whatever heathen god I believed in." Strughold's face was a mask of pure evil. "The Russians want you alive. And you will be. Consider this a mercy, boy. When they get you, you won't last long." 

 

Swell. 

 

Ellen watched as Mulder held up his ID, showed his weapon and went through the security gate. He waited for her on the other side and she was determined to make a show of it. She reached into her purse, retrieved the NSA identification that the smoker gave her - level 2 clearance, yet - and showed her shiny new gun, snug in its black leather Coach shoulder holster monogrammed with her initials. The gun and the holster were gifts from the smoker. Maybe he wasn't as bad as she always thought. 

 

Mulder snatched the identification from her as she walked past the security guard. "Give me the gun, too, Feldman." 

 

"Nothing doing, Mulder, it's mine." She yanked her ID from his grasp and pocketed it. 

 

The Federal Agent held out his hand, expectantly. "Give it to me or I'm not helping you." 

 

"Sorry, Mulder, you know the rules. Can't give up my weapon to someone from an inferior agency." So there. And she really did work for the NSA - the smoker arranged that, too, just in case Mulder did a background check. 

 

"Feldman... " 

 

"Mulder." 

 

"The gun and the badge. Now." 

 

Of course, she was supposed to be an innocent dupe, not working for the smoker and if she had to explain where she got all this stuff... Wait. She could explain it. With a whine, she batted her eyes at Mulder. "But Mulder, Alex gave these to me. They have sentimental value and I might need them ----" 

 

"You can keep the holster, Feldman." With that, he grabbed her expertly, pushed her against the wall and took her gun. Still holding her, he reached into her purse and took her badge. Satisfied, he stepped back. 

 

What a jerk! She decided to have a little fun and put him in his place at the same time. "Mulder, you shouldn't be so rough with me. I might lose the baby." 

 

And look at Mulder - shocked and guilty. This was too easy. 

 

The federal agent sighed and patted her shoulder. "Sorry." 

 

This fake pregnancy thing was working better than she thought. She decided to test her acting skills some more. "Oh! Jeez, I feel faint... " 

 

Mulder caught her arm, steadying her. "Alright, Feldman, let's go to my office and you can sit down for a while." 

 

"Crackers." 

 

"What?" 

 

"They help with the nausea." 

 

"Fine. I'll get you some." 

 

Sucker.


	5. part 5

The temporary office was far more cramped than the basement, but at least it was private. And thankfully, Our Lady of the Menses, Dana Scully, decided to call it a day early. Mulder set the can of Coke and package of saltines in front of Feldman who had commandeered his notepad and was writing out a list of baby names. 

 

At the top of the list was Alex Junior, but that seemed to have been crossed out and a notation that Jews don't name after the living put next to it. Mulder was instantly sorry he didn't get some crackers for himself. 

 

Ellen blinked up at him. "What do you think of Fox Krycek?" 

 

"I don't. Please don't make me." 

 

He logged into his computer and slid his reading glasses on. "Okay, Feldman, start reading me some names from that file." 

 

"Strughold." 

 

That name wasn't in the file. Not according to his eidetic memory. Before he could question her about it, she was at his elbow, grabbing the keyboard and typing furiously. Mulder leaned back to watch the expert at work. 

 

Feldman hissed and exited the search program he was using. "Not this one, Mulder. Let's try a Lexis property search. New York County within 10 Strughold and go. There we are. Hmmm. Let's try New York within 20 Strughold and go. Okay. We've got three properties in New York City and one in Suffolk County, looks like Fire Island. Mulder, do me a favor and run a check on Conrad Strughold for priors." 

 

"I thought you said the Russians have Krycek." 

 

"They do. Sort of." Feldman laid her hand over his. "I did something really bad, Mulder, so you have to promise not to tell Alex." 

 

God, she sounded so scared and small. Was this the same woman who was waving that fake NSA ID just half an hour ago? "Feldman, if Krycek is hurting you ---" 

 

"Oh, no, Mulder, he'd never, ever hurt me or our baby." Feldman's other hand was now resting on his knee. "But he might get a wee bit upset if he found out I went through his appointment book. You promise you won't tell him?" 

 

That clinched it. She was lying about something. Damned if he could figure out what, though. And she was uncomfortably close to him. Close enough for him to smell her perfume and her shampoo. Feldman always had that unbelievably feminine smell to her, while Scully smelled of strawberries. He just hoped she didn't notice that he was more than a little happy to see (or was that smell) her. 

"I promise, Feldman." He cleared his throat and typed the name as it appeared in the Lexis print-out she thrust under his nose with her delicate, French-manicured fingers. 

 

"Thank you, Mulder." 

 

Before he realized what she was doing, her lips brushed his cheek and he was positive they left a trace of her lipstick. 

 

What the hell had he gotten himself into? 

 

The smoker crushed the empty pack of cigarettes as he listened to his subordinate. 

 

"Mulder was doing a search on Strughold, sir. Feldman was with him, directing him. We taped their conversation and it would appear that Feldman is carrying Krycek's child." The nervous young man thrust a sheaf of papers at the smoker. "We transcribed the conversation for you, sir." 

 

"Excellent. Return to your duties, Thompson. If I have further need of you, I'll be in touch." He watched the young security guard leave and smiled down at the papers in his hand. Recruiting Feldman might well have been the best decision he'd ever made. It sounded as though she had Mulder eating out of her beautifully manicured hands. 

 

"Alex." 

 

"Fuck you, Kurt." 

 

"Alex, you know I wouldn't have done this to you." The blond man looked less like an angel and more like demon in the meager light in the basement of the New York city townhouse. "Conrad... well, you know Conrad and how he feels about inferior races. And about the Project. You should never have sold that information, Alex. Never should have worked for the Russians ---" 

 

"You worked for the Russians, too, as I recall," Krycek hissed. Embarrassing. Humiliating. His one good arm was cuffed to a belt around his waist - something that seemed to have been custom made in anticipation of a moment like this. His body... God, he didn't want to think about it... bent over the wooden horse, legs spread wide, ankles chained to hooks set in the floor and Kurt behind him, fucking him mercilessly. 

 

There was a time when he would have willingly let Kurt do this to him. Now it was torture. And still, he was aroused by Kurt's less than tender attentions. 

Kurt leaned forward and licked the shell of Krycek's right ear. "Conrad mentioned you have a trainee. A woman. Tell me about the things you've trained her to do for you, Alex." 

 

Damn Feldman for following him. He could handle something like this, but Feldman? What would she do if Strughold got her? Or Kurt? Kurt would be so gentle with her, at first, and then the demands would come. Somehow, he couldn't imagine her in restraints, allowing herself to be whipped and degraded. On the other hand, he could see Feldman as the one doing the whipping and the degrading. 

 

"Alex?" A sharp, stinging slap on his bare ass brought his attention back to the man who was fucking him. "I believe I asked you a question." 

 

"She's dead. I beat her for following me and she didn't have a high tolerance for pain." God, degrading and it felt sooo good, the pressure of Kurt's cock on his prostate, slamming into him. Deep. Hard. Fast. His sinuses ached with each thrust and he knew he was going to come. 

 

"Unlike you." 

 

"Yes." Oh, god, yes... yes... 

 

"I find it very odd that you say the Russians and Serbs are involved and yet the only name you have is a member of the German consulate." 

 

Ellen leaned back in her seat and looked out the airplane window, ignoring Mulder for the moment. She was too busy thinking about the dirt she found on Strughold while she sent Mulder for another pack of saltines. The Interpol databases didn't turn up anything, but a quick search of the Simon Weisenthal Center database and the Holocaust Museum Database indicated that the name turned up in several survivor accounts. Unfortunately, those documents were not available online and she didn't have time to go read them. 

 

"Feldman?" 

 

"Just a second, Mulder. This take-off is making me nauseous again." Fake nausea was becoming even more useful than her usual PMS excuse. 

 

Mulder reached into his jacket and produced another packet of saltines. "I have some more of these." 

 

Speaking of PMS, she was four days away from her period. If she kept eating salt, she was going to bloat to the size of this airplane. "Not right now, okay?" 

 

"Sure, Feldman." Hazel eyes regarded her with just a hint of amusement. Did he suspect she was lying about the pregnancy? 

 

Ellen found herself doing a comparison of Mulder and her Ratboy. One thing about Ratboy, he wasn't as easy to push around as Mulder was. All you had to do was wave the word 'conspiracy' in front of Mulder and he jumped through whatever hoops you put in front of him, as long as you promised the truth would be found through the last hoop. Krycek was more of a 'big picture' kind of guy. If she lied and told Krycek she was pregnant, you could bet he'd have one of those kits and ask her to pee on the strip while he watched just so he could have the pleasure of seeing the test results himself. He didn't make it easy for her. She liked that. Really liked that. And her Ratboy was creative in bed without resorting to taco sauce. 

 

"Why are you looking at me like that, Feldman?" 

 

"Do you have any idea how nice it is not to smell like taco sauce after sex?" 

 

Mulder's face screwed up in distaste. "I'd rather not hear about your sex life with Krycek. It's bad enough knowing you're carrying Damien in there ---" 

 

"Avi, Mulder. I've decided if it's a boy, I'm naming it Avi." A nice, Jewish name. Avi Krycek. Good lord, maybe she should have a couple more of those saltines. "Please call my fetus 'Avi' from now on." 

 

"What if it's a girl?" 

 

"It's a boy. I can feel it. And he's gonna be just like his daddy ---" 

 

"Feldman! Please. Can we talk about something else? Anything... " 

 

What a wuss! Ellen sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "You'll come to Avi's bris, won't you?" 

 

"Yeah... right." Mulder cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "To get back to my original question, Feldman, what about the Russians and the Serbs?" 

 

Well, they were airborne, so he couldn't turn back now. Ellen decided to pull out all the stops and do her 'Bambi eyes' for him. Good, she had his full attention. "You remember mentioning Tunguska, Mulder? Well, that's where the Russians come in. They want my Alex. I think Strughold is working for them." 

 

"And the biotoxin?" 

 

"Is part of the deal." Actually, it was just a really good cover story that she and the smoker concocted. He was a devious sonofabitch and she was starting to really respect him. After all, he was the one who insisted Mulder would jump when she mentioned the biotoxin and damned if he wasn't right. 

 

He supposed the Mighty Dog was an improvement over the Purina Puppy Chow, but did Kurt have to be so damned cheerful about it? Kurt was going to pay for this latest indignity, Krycek thought bitterly. Okay, maybe he should be grateful they didn't make him finish the Puppy Chow, that Kurt brought him a fresh can of beef-flavored Mighty Dog, re-filled his water dish and gave him a rawhide bone. On the other hand, maybe he was going to shove that fucking bone up Kurt's ass. Without lube. Well, maybe using the Mighty Dog as lube. Yes, that certainly sounded like a plan to him. Of course, knowing Kurt, he'd probably like that. 

Krycek tugged at the handcuff on his right wrist once more. Not much slack there. Not much slack on the chain attached to the dog collar, either. At least they'd taken the choke collar off. Still, it would be a long time before he found erotic asphyxiation the slightest bit erotic again. 

 

It was times like these he cursed those peasants for 'saving' him from the tests. No arm, no test. Well, he cured them of that notion real fast. Not that it was helping him now. No arm meant one less hand to use to try to escape. On the plus side, it made it harder to restrain him because most restraints were constructed with two hands in mind. 

 

He was past his deadline for executing Strughold. No doubt the smoker was considering this mission a complete scrub, would deny everything and absolutely wouldn't send anybody to rescue him. As usual, it was up to him to save his own ass. 

 

And his ass most assuredly needed saving, particularly from Strughold. Having the handle of a riding crop shoved up there was not a pleasant experience. Maybe he shouldn't have made that remark about Strughold not being able to get it up more than twice a day. Nah, it was worth it, even if Strughold shoved that handle in just a little further and a little more furiously. 

 

If - no, when - when he got out of here, he was going to tell Feldman she was right, he was going to swear off men and... . Yeah, who was he kidding? It was part of the job. Sometimes, it was a part of the job he really, really liked. Of course, he could still lie and tell Feldman she was right. 

 

And right there was the oddest thing about his present situation. He missed Feldman. Yes, he thought about her when he was trapped in the silo and when he was in Asia and in Russia, but it was always as an abstract concept. What would it be like if he could have Feldman. If she would do the things for him that she did for Mulder. Now Feldman was doing things for him that she never did for Mulder. Or resisting doing things for him that she never did with Mulder. Like getting herself off while he watched. You'd think Mulder would have loved watching that. God knew, he'd love to see that. 

 

Okay, Alex, he told himself. Twenty-four hours. He'd get himself out of here in twenty-four hours. 

 

"Maybe you ought to give me my gun and ID back." 

 

"Maybe you ought to explain why we're standing in front of the German consulate and not the Russian consulate." 

 

Ellen fought the urge to roll her eyes and call Mulder a dumbass. "It could have something to do with the fact that the only name we've got is Strughold's. What do you think?" 

 

"I think I don't have jurisdiction." 

 

"If you gave me my NSA credentials, Mulder, we'd have jurisdiction." Since when did he become such a stickler for the rules? Was he going to ask her to draft a search warrant next? 

 

"Those credentials are fake." 

 

"They're real enough to pass, Mulder. Have a little more faith in my Ra - uh, my Alex." 

 

Mulder sighed and reached into his jacket. He held the ID just out of reach. "All right, Feldrat, let's see if this works." 

 

Again with the Feldrat? Jerk. She straightened the lapels of her black suit - oh yes, she wore the ultra-conservative black one on purpose. As conservative as it was, it showed just enough leg to get anybody's attention and it was cut to show off whatever curves she possessed. Her Ratboy bought it for her, naturally. Ellen took the identification and rang the bell. 

 

Moments later, a man who instantly reminded her of a young Adolf Hitler answered the door. "Ja?" 

 

She held up the ID. "Conrad Strughold." 

 

"We would like to speak ---" Mulder began, but a quick elbow to his stomach shut him up before he blew her little power play out of the water. 

 

"He is not here." The door started to close again, but Ellen jammed her briefcase in just in time. Yeah, as if she would be stupid enough to risk scuffing her Joan & David pumps... 

 

"Just a second, Adolf," Ellen snapped. She could feel Mulder starting to freak out behind her. "This is a matter of national security. Step aside and let us in. We're going to search the premises." 

 

"We have diplomatic immunity ---" 

 

"Then I suggest you get on the phone with my superiors right now to discuss it." 

And then she brought out the big gun. She reached into her blouse and pulled out the large Star of David charm that belonged to her grandmother. Big and gold with a decent-sized diamond in the center on a nice, thick rope chain. 

 

Adolf blanched visibly. 

 

"L'chaim, buddy." 

 

"There seems to be a situation in midtown," the fat man with the bad teeth said. "A woman whose description matches that of Ellen Feldman is harassing our friends in the German Embassy, looking for Strughold." 

 

The smoker lit a fresh cigarette, inhaled and then exhaled slowly. "Strughold has Krycek and intends to sell him to the Russians. Feldman's merely protecting what she perceives is her property." 

 

"She has NSA credentials," the fat man said. 

 

"My. I wonder where she would have gotten those." 

 

"You should warn Strughold." 

 

"Of Feldman? What threat to him would she be," the smoker asked, incredulously. 

Small beady eyes set in that fat face glared at him. "Mulder is with her." 

 

"I see. Very well. I'll let Strughold know." 

 

In addition to all the other aches and pains, the nausea from the tranquilizer that Strughold shot him with was making it hard to think. Krycek groaned and tried to concentrate on his new surroundings. Okay, it was another basement, but this one was really set up like a dungeon. A set of rings hung from the ceiling and Krycek knew, just knew, he'd be hanging from them very soon. There was also a flat table with restraints and stirrups. Various types of whips adorned the wall and naturally, the ceiling was completely mirrored so that he'd have to watch whatever further indignities he'd be forced to suffer. 

 

This morning had been awful. Strughold kept at him with the cattle prod until he'd actually finished the bowl of dog food. Of course, he then threw up the dog food all over Strughold. Feldman would have been proud of him. After all, wasn't that one of her tricks? 

 

Strughold, naturally, was furious and ordered Kurt to fuck him until his ears bled, which Kurt attempted. Such a good man for following orders, Kurt was. Okay, Kurt did succeed in inducing a nose bleed, not to mention more welts on Krycek's back. Plus one very intense orgasm for Alex. 

 

Sometime after that, Strughold jabbed that needle into his neck and the next thing he knew, he was here. Wherever here was. Hell, for all he knew, he could be in Bern. 

 

Krycek heaved a weary sigh and looked for something, anything he could use to pick the lock. Because once his hand was free, he'd get this fucking plug out of his ass. And what a blessing that would be. 

 

The smoker dialed the phone and wondered what Feldman was going to say when she didn't find Strughold. Of course, he didn't give her Strughold's name to begin with and how she got it was a complete mystery to him. Unless Krycek was telling her more than he let on. Not that it would bother him. For an amateur, Feldman did amazingly good work. 

 

"Strughold." 

 

"Conrad. How pleasant to hear your voice." 

 

"Why are you bothering me?" 

 

"There is an urgent matter in Tataouine that requires your immediate return." 

 

A sigh. "Nobody else can handle this? I'm in the middle of a transaction that will ---" 

 

"I'm aware of the transaction, Conrad. I'll handle it from here. You need to return to Tunisia." He blew a single smoke ring and watched it hover through the air. "Is Krycek still alive?" 

 

There was a moment of silence. "For now. My friend, there is a favor I would like to ask of you." 

 

"By all means." 

 

"Alex was accompanied to our initial meeting by a charming young woman who left before I could get an introduction. He mentioned she was a trainee. If you are amenable, I thought perhaps I could train her for you, since Alex won't be able to ---" 

 

"I'm afraid that's impossible." 

 

"And why is that, old friend?" 

 

"She's my trainee." He hung up the phone and died out the cigarette. Feldman. And as usual, she was someplace where she shouldn't have been. Well, at least from now on, he'd be able to control her exposure. If she proved that she could handle Mulder as well as he hoped, she would be worth every moment of aggravation. 

 

"Feldman, this is absolutely crazy. I'm not going to let you wander around Manhattan flashing phony credentials and ---" 

 

"Mulder, shut up, will you? I can't think with you whining like that." God, when did Mulder become such a complainer? Must be Scully's influence, she decided. Ellen fished out the list of addresses and sighed. Okay, there was a townhouse on the Upper West side in the Seventies and then there was one in the Thirties on the East Side. Not far from the Heliport. She thought for a moment and decided she liked the one on the East Side better. If you needed to stash somebody and make a quick getaway by helicopter, that would be the place to do it. "Okay, Mulder, we're making one more stop. 333 East 38th Street." 

 

"Feldman ---" 

 

"Mulder, I'm gonna do this with you or without you." She glared at him. "I just can't believe you'd abandon a pregnant woman." 

 

"I would gladly abandon a pregnant woman who's lying through her teeth." 

 

"Are you calling me a liar?" 

 

"Yes." What a prick! Ellen stifled the urge to whack him one. "Okay, Mulder what am I lying about? Am I lying that my sweet Alex is missing? That this Strughold bastard wants to trade him to the Russians? That there's this lethal biotoxin? That I'm pregnant? Goddammit, Mulder, you of all people should recognize the truth when you see it." 

 

Oh would you look at that! She could play him like a harp. Now for the coup de grace. Ellen clutched her stomach and lurched toward him on shaky legs. "Oh... oh, God... Mulder... I'm gonna faint... the doctor warned me to avoid stress... oh..it hurts... " 

 

Mulder caught her as she fell onto him. "Easy, Feldman." 

 

How she could be this good without a single acting class was beyond her, but she was. A deep, shaky breath. "Mulder, I'm scared... I don't want to lose Alex... " 

 

"You know there are a lot of nice men out there. Lawyers. Doctors. White collar criminals," Mulder suggested, patting her back. "Men with steady jobs, two arms, that don't kill people for a living and -" 

 

"I've dated them, Mulder, and those men are balding, fat, underpaid, undereducated, impotent slobs who still live with their parents and watch Star Trek. Do you have any idea how many godawful dates I had after you dumped me? I was keeping Duracell in business." Well, maybe she didn't have to mention Duracell. "Alex is... my God, Mulder, he's sexy and smart, he's got a steady job, travels, has a great body, dresses well, is fantastic in bed and he loves me so ---" 

 

"Feldman, please. I don't think I need to hear this." 

 

"Actually, Mulder, if you hadn't dumped me, Alex and I would never have gotten together." 

 

"Feldman, please... " 

 

"Ohhh," she moaned. Maybe she'd take an acting class to work on some of this. The smoker would pay for it. Probably. 

 

"Do you want me to take you to a hospital?" 

 

"No, Mulder, we don't have time. We have to find Alex," she whined.


	6. part 6

"Ach, my little puppy, the time has come for me to say goodbye." 

 

Alex cast a wary stare up at Strughold as the German caressed his cock lovingly. How long had he been strapped down on this table anyway? Two hours? Three? And how many times had he been forced to come since then? It was starting to get on his nerves, not to mention making him more than a little sore, tired and miserable. "Sorry to see you go, Conrad. I was looking forward to breaking the world's record for most forced orgasms in one day." 

 

The old man chuckled humorlessly. "There is still a chance for you, my boy. I'm sure Kurt would be happy to continue what we've started." 

 

"Speaking of which... is there a point to all this? Breaking me? Torture? Making up for your pitiful sex life?" 

 

A bony hand struck him across the face, hard enough to hurt and Strughold leaned over so Krycek could see his eyes. They were cold and inhuman. "The point, puppy? To show you your place. You think you've learned so much in four years that you would be capable of killing me? Yes, that's right. I know all about that. And let me tell you something, stripling, I have been meting out death longer than you have been alive. It will take a better breed than you to kill me." 

 

"One of the Master Race? Don't bet on it." 

 

"Brave talk from a dead man. Kurt!" 

 

"Yes, Conrad?" A quick glance in the mirror and he could see Kurt watching his master with a rapt, love-struck expression. What had he ever seen in Kurt? The man was an overgrown Ken doll - anatomically correct maybe - but dumb as a piece of plastic. A great fuck, but never a good conversationalist. 

 

"Our friends will be here tonight. See to it that the puppy gives them no trouble. You may amuse yourself until they arrive." 

 

"Thank you, Conrad. I shall." That beautiful, strong featured face hovered over his as Kurt's finger traced his lips. The contact made him sick and angry. Tempting to bite the finger off, but better to wait until Conrad was gone. Kurt would be easy to manipulate and maybe he could sweet-talk the pretty empty-headed fool into setting him loose. 

 

"Farewell, Alex." 

 

Jesus! Krycek winced as those dry old lips brushed his. Yes, he'd kill Conrad if he had to come back from the dead to do it. 

 

"Oh yes, I forgot to mention... " Strughold cupped his face with a bony, callused hand. "You needn't worry about your trainee. I'll make sure she learns everything I've taught you. I haven't had the pleasure of training a woman in a very long time, but since she was yours, it is the least I can do." 

 

"You said she was dead, Alex. You lied to me!" Kurt sounded like a child who just found out there was no such thing as Santa. "I'm going to have to punish you for that." 

 

Yeah, Kurt, whatever. He needed to get out of this, keep Feldman away from Strughold... Damn her for following him. Well, if he didn't get out of this fast, she was going to learn her lesson the hard way. 

 

When was she going to learn her lesson, Ellen wondered as she watched Mulder puking over the railing of the Fire Island ferry. Fat lot of help he'd been. All he did was complain. Complained when she dragged him to the midtown address that turned out to be a soup stand - okay, he did make that funny soup Nazi remark, but he criticized her detective skills and then complained during the drive to the ferry. And naturally, they got stuck in construction by the Seaford-Oyster Bay Expressway. 

 

She pulled a small package of Kleenex out of her purse and thrust it under his nose. "Thirty minutes til we dock, Mulder. Think you'll survive so we can save Alex?" 

 

The federal agent was positively green and looked absolutely miserable. Hard to believe he could get this sick during a ferry ride. Mulder plucked out a tissue and wiped at his mouth. "I'll be fine, Feldman but I think we need to have a little conversation." 

 

Uh-oh. Ellen thought fast. Did she slip up somewhere? Tell Mulder something she shouldn't have? 

 

"There aren't any Russians, Serbs or biotoxins are there, Feldman?" 

 

"Well, there are," she said, slowly. How did he finally get a clue? Did he know all along? "Just not here." 

 

"I can't help you if I don't know what I'm up against. In fact, Feldman, I won't help you." He leaned over the side again, retched noisily and used another tissue. "So much for lobster bisque. What makes you think this Strughold person has Krycek?" 

 

Ellen nibbled at her lower lip, weighing what she could tell Mulder without compromising Krycek's work. Or her own. "I just do." 

 

"That's not good enough." 

 

There had to be a lie that would work. Or a partial truth. Mulder didn't have to know the reasons why her Ratboy was meeting with Strughold. Hell, she didn't even know all of them. "Alex was supposed to meet with him a few days ago and he never came home." 

 

"Meet with him for what reason?" 

 

"I don't know. He doesn't tell me everything." 

 

"But he told you Strughold's name?" 

 

Think fast, Feldman, and keep it plausible. "No. I told you, Mulder, I went through his appointment book." 

 

"Feldman, I seriously doubt Krycek would keep an appointment book." 

 

"Okay, Mulder, you win. I'll tell you the truth." Yeah, right. "We had a fight because I thought he was going to meet another woman. Sometimes he has to because it's part of the job and he says I shouldn't be jealous, but Mulder, I don't want some other bitch mowing my lawn and I told him so. It got kind of ugly and Strughold's name came up, sort of in the context of there'd be no way in hell he'd let himself be mowed by Strughold. Because Strughold's a man, I mean." 

 

Mulder leaned back against the railing, holding onto it with both hands. It was obvious he was having trouble standing up straight. "Did he tell you what the meeting involved?" 

 

"You asked me that already." 

 

"You keep giving different answers, so I figured I didn't have anything to lose by asking again." 

 

"Sorry, that one stays the same. Alex doesn't tell me much about his work." 

 

The federal agent studied her carefully, his expression showing that he wasn't fully satisfied with her answer. "You've got a pretty good idea what that work involves, Feldman, and I hate to be the one to point this out to you that Krycek could be dead by now." 

 

"He's not." 

 

"Don't be so sure of that." 

 

"You bastard! Don't you dare say that! He's alive! I know he is! All you have to do is look at him to know he can survive anything -" 

 

"So why does he need your help, Feldman?" 

 

"Because he'd help me, Mulder. He's already helped me." 

 

"He's helped you by making you as big a target as he is -" 

 

"You made me a target first, Mulder, so you have no right standing there passing judgment!" 

 

"Yeah, but I let you go. You were the one who chose to go looking for Ratboy because you can't stay out of trouble." 

 

"You've got it backwards. He came looking for me. Unlike you, he gave a damn about whether I was okay." Ellen had never been this close to slugging Mulder before but it was starting to look like a damned good idea. "He's better to me than you ever were and don't you dare call him that name, Mulder! You don't know anything about him -" 

 

"I know he's a murderer and a liar and ---" 

 

"And you're here helping me rescue him, so he can't be all that bad, can he?" 

 

"Feldman, the only reason I'm here is because you asked me to help you." 

 

"If that's how you feel then go home. I don't need your help, Mulder. I've been doing fine on my own so far. I can rescue Alex all by myself -" 

 

"Assuming there's something to rescue." 

 

"He is NOT dead! I don't lose, Mulder. Do you hear me?! I NEVER lose -" 

 

"This isn't a courtroom, Feldman. There are no rules here -" 

 

"That makes it much better for me, then, doesn't it?" She turned away from Mulder and saw the Fire Island Lighthouse in the distance. Another fifteen minutes and they'd be there. Her Ratboy was alive. He had to be. Didn't he? 

 

"Alone at least, sweet, beautiful Alex." 

 

"I'm thrilled, Kurt." Well, truthfully, part of him was thrilled. Funny, how the body could respond no matter what the mind thought. And was his mind ever occupied. He needed to get out of here, needed to find Feldman... Jesus, poor Feldman. What if that bastard had her in his filthy hands? 

 

"I'm very upset that you lied to me, Alex." 

 

Quick, think of a useful lie that would satisfy a jealous, petulant Ken doll. "I'm sorry, Kurt. Really. But Feldman's got some pull and I was supposed to be looking out for her." 

 

"Feldman? That is her name?" An amused chuckle erupted into a full-fledged guffaw. "She is a Jew?! Surely you could have done better than that." 

 

"Like you," Alex purred. Wow! Kurt was even more jealous than Feldman. That made him much easier to manipulate. Especially since he was nowhere near as smart. 

 

"Exactly. Let us forget about the woman, Alex. Conrad gave me a permission to indulge myself and I intend to." Kurt's large hand stroked his thigh, possessively. "We have the rest of today to say our good-byes." 

 

He had the rest of today to figure out how to get out of this mess. And with Conrad gone, his odds of getting free just went up. 

 

"Are you planning on walking up to the door and asking for Strughold, Feldman?" 

 

Ellen swallowed hard and her finger stroked the 'call' button just outside the main gate leading up to the huge property. This was her last lead. Alex had to be here. Just had to be. She turned to Mulder. "What do you suggest?" 

 

"I suggest we climb the fence and take a peek in those windows." 

 

"But that's illegal, Mulder. Any evidence ---" 

 

"You really think there'd be an arrest, Feldman? This guy's connected and I don't think Krycek is gonna press charges." A quick, sly grin. "I'm sure you'd try to convince him though, wouldn't you?" 

 

"Damn skippy, I would." The fence was tall, spiked and ugly. All it needed was some barbed wire. "How are we getting over that?" 

 

"See that nice tree over there?" 

 

"In my dress pumps?" 

 

"You wanna dig a hole and go under?" 

 

"This suit is Escada," she sniffed. 

 

"And that means what?" 

 

"Alex paid six hundred dollars for it." 

 

"No wonder you want to rescue him so badly. You found yourself a one-armed sugar daddy." He scaled the tree. "Come on, Feldman. I'm sure you can dry clean that thing." 

 

Tree climbing. She never climbed a tree in her life. Despite popular belief, there actually were trees in Brooklyn, she just never had the urge to climb one. Especially not in a designer suit. 

 

"Are you coming?" 

 

Oh, what the hell. 

 

He had to hand it to Kurt. The dumb Kraut wasn't as dumb as he led everybody to believe. Even as he tried to manipulate Kurt, Kurt manipulated him into... Well, hell. He knew he was going to end up suspended from the ceiling eventually and he had to admit, this sling was pretty damned comfortable. 

 

"So, my pretty Alex, tell me, whom do you prefer, me or that woman?" 

 

"Jealous, Kurt?" 

 

"Of a woman? Could she do the things to you that I do?" 

 

"You wouldn't believe some of the things she does, tovarisch." Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Yes, he definitely should not have said that. Kurt was reaching for one of the whips on the wall. A big, painful-looking one. Yow! That would teach him to think before opening his mouth. "Kurt!" 

 

"After all we had, you prefer a woman! A woman! You slut!" 

 

"Aw, Kurt - ouch! -- you do --- ouch - great things for me, too." 

 

"You know how I feel about women, Alex." 

 

"How do you feel about me?" 

 

"Sad that our time together is coming to an end." 

 

"You could set me free and tell Conrad I escaped ---" 

 

"I cannot lie to Conrad." 

 

"So you'd let me die." 

 

"What choice do I have, Alex? You were going to kill Conrad. I cannot allow that to happen. Conrad makes my life possible. He indulges me in whatever I want ---" 

"Okay, okay, I get the point." Oh, Jeez. A German Ellen. Well, not really. Ellen took the money and the gifts, but she'd be damned if she became dependent on anybody. 

 

"We shall make love one last time, Alex," Kurt decided, tossing the whip across the room. It landed by the door. "I'm afraid I can't let you down, but I can certainly please you. And myself." 

 

One last time. Fair enough. And then he'd kill Kurt. 

 

"Do you see anything?" 

 

"No. The windows are all covered. Think the doors are locked?" 

 

"Yes, Feldman. And alarmed, I believe." 

Feldman frowned at him and turned her attention back to the alarm system. "I think I can short circuit it." 

 

"That sounds like a new skill," Mulder commented. 

 

"Alex and I had some time on our hands so I asked him to teach me stuff. One of the things he taught me was Breaking and Entering 101." 

 

"Feldman ---" 

 

"He likes showing me things, Mulder. You never showed me anything except those lousy crop circles. You didn't even teach me how to break and clean a gun or how to do a hit -" 

 

"Feldman!" 

 

"Well, he did." Feldman reached into her handbag and pulled out a small black leather case. Soft, supple leather that had the Coach logo and one of those black keychain tags. Mulder was almost positive Coach didn't make those. Almost. At least he'd never seen them during his trips to the Mazza Galleries. "He even bought me my own set of tools." 

 

And he felt sorry for her? Feldman looked like she was thriving on the education Krycek was giving her. Maybe he should start feeling sorry for Krycek... 

 

"Mulder, look at this." 

 

"What?" 

 

"I think it's the ugliest sofa I've ever seen." Feldman pointed at the burgundy velvet monstrosity with the clawed feet. "Can we arrest him for lack of style?" 

Mulder stared at her. Amazing how Feldman could morph from lawyer to one-woman crime spree to complete JAP in less than a minute. "We have to find him first. Since you insist on leading this mission, where do you want to start? Upstairs or downstairs?" 

 

"Basement. All the whackos keep their hostages in the basement." 

 

"You sure about that?" Statistically, it was true, they did, but there was no harm in letting her think for herself. Or finding out where she got her ideas from. 

 

"Positive. From Silence of the Lambs to Intensity, all the nutjobs used their basements." 

 

Why couldn't she read romance novels, like other women? "Okay, Feldman, let's find the basement." 

 

"Say my name, Alex." 

 

"Kurt... oh, Jesus, Kurt... " This was the last time, he promised himself. The very last time. God, it was going to be hard killing such a good lover but he was going to have to because the Russians were coming. This Russian was coming. 

 

"Tell me you love me, Alex." 

 

"What?!" 

 

"You'll be dead soon, indulge me. Tell me you love me." 

 

What a sick bastard. But if he had to do it to con his way out of this... 

 

"I love you, too, my sweet, Alex." 

 

Ellen heard it but she couldn't believe it. She saw it with her own eyes and still couldn't believe it. Some big blond muscle-bound clod was fucking her Ratboy. And her Ratboy liked it. Enough to exchange 'I love you, honeys'. She was going to kill him for this. After she taught the Nazi a lesson. 

 

"Feldman?" Mulder rested a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you want to leave him ---" 

 

"The hell I do," she hissed. "Gimme my gun, Mulder. Now." 

 

"So you can kill which one?" 

 

"Just give it to me!" 

 

"No." 

 

"Fine, I'll do it without a gun." She took a step forward and nearly tripped over the whip that lay in the doorway. Ellen picked it up and a plan quickly formed. 

 

"You! Nazi Ken-doll! Stop mowing my lawn!" 

 

The brawny German faced her, armed only with a large, glistening erection. "What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?" 

 

"The name is Feldman. Jew. Lawyer. Bitch." With that she cracked the whip, catching the man on the leg. 

 

He howled as a large red welt formed. 

 

Feldman snapped the whip again. 

 

Mulder winced and sidled past to where Krycek was dangling. "How's it hanging, Krycek?" 

 

"Very funny, Mulder." 

 

"Actually, it is. Feldman's whipping the heck out of your friend." His eyes wandered over the bruised, beaten body hanging in front of him, pausing at Krycek's rather large hard-on. How the hell he managed to fit that into Feldman was an X-File. 

 

There was a loud moan and another crack of the whip. 

 

Mulder turned in time to see the large German come, spraying his load all over the front of Feldman's suit and pass out on the floor, a blissful smile on his face. Feldman did not look happy as she viciously kicked the unconscious man in the kidneys. He supposed the scuff marks on the shoes didn't matter much if the suit was ruined. "Feldman is not a happy camper right now." 

 

"C'mon, Mulder, let me down." The triple agent glanced over his shoulder, saw the approaching pissed-off lawyer and gave Mulder a pathetic look. "Please?" 

 

"Sorry, friend. Male solidarity extends just so far." Mulder backed away as Feldman came closer and leaned back against the wall to watch the rest of the show. This was going to be good. 

 

Feldman stared up at Krycek, the whip dragging behind her like a tail. "Jesus. You look like a leather-clad pinata. What's that thingie supposed to be?" 

 

"It's a cockstrap, Feldman." Mulder could see that Krycek was doing his damnedest to be patient. "Are you going to let me down?" 

 

"I'm thinking about it. Your Nazi buddy made a huge come stain on my new suit." 

 

"Let me down and I'll buy you a new one." 

 

"I thought the old guy had you, Alex," Feldman complained. "Who the hell is the Ken doll and why did he say he loves you? I'm not going to be made a fool of ---" 

 

"I'm not making a fool of you, kitten ----" 

 

Did Krycek just call Feldman 'kitten'? 

 

"Don't call me 'kitten', Rentboy!" 

 

Yup, he did. Mulder was barely able to suppress a laugh. 

 

"Kurt's an old acquaintance, Feldman. He works with the old guy -" 

 

"Acquaintance my ass - sorry, your ass." 

 

"Okay, he's an old lover. Jesus, Feldman, don't be such a little bitch." For a man in his position, Krycek should have been choosing his words more carefully, Mulder thought. 

 

"Not so old, Alex, if you told him you love him." 

 

"I was trying to get out of this, Feldman." 

 

"You didn't look like you were doing anything except getting off!" 

 

"Come on, Feldman, I'm all bruised. Are you going to leave me hanging here?" 

 

Feldman traced a bruise with her finger and then dropped the whip on the floor. "How do I get you down?" 

 

"The chain over there," Mulder put in, pointing. "Unhook it and lower away." 

 

"Thanks, Mulder," Krycek said, gratefully. 

 

This was going to be good. Could 92 pounds gently lower almost two hundred? Not likely. Krycek landed on the cement floor with a crash and a string of curses in at least three languages. 

 

"You did that on purpose, Feldman!" 

 

"Maybe if you lost some weight -" 

 

"Don't start with me!" Krycek freed himself from the chains and got up on shaky legs. "If you weren't such a pain in the ass about my work I wouldn't have ended up in this mess!" 

 

"If you weren't chasing men -" 

 

"Well, maybe you could learn a thing or two from them -" 

 

"Listen, Krycek, if you want something shoved up your ass, I've got a tire iron in the trunk of my car and I'd be happy to shove it in curved side first!" 

 

It was starting to get a little ugly, Mulder decided, resting his palm on his gun as Krycek's hand curled into a fist. If he swung at Feldman... 

 

"Feldman." 

 

"Krycek." 

 

"Feldman... " 

 

"Ratboy... " 

 

"C'mere, Feldman." Krycek grabbed her by the lapels of her suit and brought his lips down on hers. Hard. And he started grinding against her. Feldman's hands went right to Krycek's ass, encouraging him. 

 

Mulder was going to be sick. 

 

Ellen released Krycek finally and looked down at the front of her suit, noticing the second stain for the first time. "Oh man! This suit is totally ruined. Thanks a lot, Alex." 

 

"I'm sure protein comes out of silk, Feldman." 

 

"It doesn't matter. I tore it climbing the tree anyway." 

 

"You climbed a tree?" 

 

"Don't ask," Mulder put in. "She complained the entire time. Not that I blame her, being in her condition and all." 

 

Oh. Shit. Ellen could feel the blood drain from her face. "Mulder ---" 

 

"What condition is that, Mulder," Krycek asked, warily. 

 

"She's ---" 

 

"I'm fi -" 

 

" - pregnant." Mulder grinned down at her as he cheerfully hung her with the biggest lie she told him. "Oh, I'm sorry, Feldman. Did you want to break the news yourself?" 

 

"You're pregnant? Really? How far along are you, kitten?" 

 

"She's six weeks along." 

 

Ellen glared at Mulder. "Mulder ---" 

 

"She's even picked out a name for your son, Krycek. Avi." 

 

"Avi," Krycek echoed. "Avi Krycek? Maybe as a middle name, but I want my boy to be named Sasha." 

 

"Alex, could I speak to you in private for a second." If she could find one of those S&M gags around here, maybe she could shove it in Mulder's mouth...


	7. part 7

Verdammt little Jew bitch, Kurt thought, bitterly. Pregnant with his Alex's child. How could he hope to compete with that? Even if she wasn't pregnant, the Feldman bitch was hell with a whip - no woman had ever been able to whip him to orgasm before and no man had ever made him come quite this hard. Not even Conrad. Not even Alex. 

 

For the first time in years, Kurt pondered the possibility of having a sexual encounter with a woman. Of course, he would have to get his Alex to forgive him first. And there was the little matter of the woman hating him. Oh, but her hatred made him excited. He was going to have fantasies about her whipping him for a long, long time. 

 

Right now, though, he needed to get out of here. Three against one was horrible odds and that evil little woman would probably try to break his nose again. Thank heaven she had tiny, little feet and the heel mark in his forehead most likely was not that noticeable. 

 

Kurt got to his feet and backed slowly towards the door. 

 

Crash! 

 

Startled, he turned to lock eyes with the handsome man the bitch brought with her. 

 

"Going somewhere?" The man reached for his gun. 

 

"Ja. Anywhere but here." Before the man could get to his gun, Kurt punched him in the jaw and the man crumpled to the floor with a thud. As he expected. Weak, American jaw. Still, the man was attractive. That sexy mole and lower lip... He couldn't help himself as he stole a kiss and groped the man's crotch. Ah, well-hung. A pity there was no time to get better acquainted. 

 

"Farewell," Kurt whispered. 

 

"I'm not pregnant, Alex." 

 

Krycek ignored her and stroked her belly lovingly. "Sasha. My little Sasha... " 

 

"I said I'M NOT PREGNANT!" God! One itsy bitsy lie and look what she got herself into. "There's no Sasha. There's no Avi. And would you stop feeling me up already?!" 

 

"Of course, you're pregnant, Feldman." His fingers roamed upwards, cupping a breast. "You're getting bigger in all the right places." 

 

"That's because I've got PMS." 

 

"You're hormonal, that's for sure." 

 

"Listen to me very carefully." Why wasn't he wearing an article of clothing she could grab? Well, there was some chest hair. Krycek yelped as she grabbed a small handful. "I'm not pregnant. There is no baby. It's a lie I told Mulder to get him to come with me. Understand?" 

 

He pried her fingers loose and favored her with an admiring smile. "You devious little witch. You're good. Really good. I'm proud of you. I'd just like to know how you figured out I was in trouble." 

 

Ellen thought fast. There had to be a way to get his mind off that question. Ah, yes. Good idea. She traced a path from his chest downwards with a finger and looked up at him with her famous, never-fail Bambi eyes. "I got lonely, honey, so I went by your place and you weren't there -" 

 

"So you decided to come looking for me?" 

 

Did he believe her? She couldn't quite tell. "Uh-huh... " 

 

"That's very ---- Jesus, Mulder! What the hell happened to you?" 

 

Mulder was rubbing his jaw. "Your boyfriend packs one hell of a punch, Krycek." 

 

"Don't tell me he got away," Ellen complained. 

 

"He got away." The federal agent glared at the two of them. "And we've missed the last ferry out of here." 

 

"Out of where," Krycek asked. "Where the hell am I?" 

 

Mulder grinned at him. "Appropriately enough, you're on Fire Island and it looks like we're stuck here for the night." 

 

"No way, Mulder! I'm not staying at Casa de Concentration Camp," Ellen sniffed. "I know a good bed and breakfast ---" 

 

"We have to get out of here," Krycek said, grabbing her arm. "The Russians are coming." 

 

Ellen stared up at him. "Excuse me?" 

 

Krycek released her and gestured to the various marks on his body. "This wasn't a date, kitten. They were giving me to the Russians ---" 

 

Mulder chuckled softly. "Justice finally catching up with you for what you did to those prisoners in Tunguska, Krycek?" 

 

What were they talking about? Ellen looked from one to the other, hoping for a clue. 

 

"They don't care about the prisoners. They're pissed because I stole the vaccine and a kid who saw the alien rebel." Krycek grabbed her arm again. "And right now, Mulder, we don't have the time to talk about it." 

 

Ellen jerked free. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, Ricky." 

 

"Later, Feldman. Right now, we need to find clothes and weapons because if the Russians don't find me here, you can bet they're going to go looking for me." 

 

She tugged at Mulder's sleeve. "Hey, Mulder, I promised you Russians, didn't I? Maybe the Serbs'll show up with the biotoxin and we can have a party." 

 

"Why me," Mulder and Krycek said in unison. 

 

Useless. Both of them. Not that it mattered. Let the Russians come. She'd already beaten the Nazis today. Nobody was going to take her Ratboy without her permission. 

 

"Excuse me. How would I be finding Nesconset Place?" 

 

The young, trendy man tossed his head, flipping back his long, obviously dyed blond hair. "Whoa. I don't think they let Plymouth Reliants in that area, man." 

 

"Excuse me?" Yuri was confused. He exchanged stares with his partner, Wojtek, who shrugged, equally confused. 

 

"The K-car, dude. I'm surprised they even let you on the island with it." With that, the man walked away, muttering something about the standards here going completely to hell. 

 

Wojtek rolled his eyes. "I can't wait to get back to St. Petersburg." 

 

"I'm sure Krycek can't wait, either." 

 

The two men shared a long laugh as Wojtek unfurled the Western Suffolk county street atlas to search once more for their destination. 

 

Feldman, Krycek and Mulder all stared at the bed. It was a prim, queen-sized affair, with a fluffy pile of pillows. Mulder grabbed one of the pillows and headed for the bathroom. He came back a second later, cursing under his breath. 

 

"Damned tub's too small." 

 

"I guess it's the chair for you then, Mulder." Krycek dropped down onto the bed with a long, exhausted yawn. Nice to be in a bed again. Even nicer if Feldman would join him. 

 

Gingerly, Feldman unlaced the too-big shoes he was wearing and set them down. Her hands went to the Hilfiger oxford and began undoing the buttons. 

 

"Leave it, kitten." He pushed her hands away. 

 

"You sure you want to wrinkle your only clean clothes?" 

 

A weary sigh and then Krycek slipped out of the shirt, handing it to her. "I'll leave the pants on so Mulder doesn't blush." 

 

"How thoughtful of you." Mulder slumped back in the chair and closed his eyes again. 

 

"Can I get you anything, Alex? Water, maybe?" 

 

"Just lemme sleep for a while," he murmured into the pillow. Finally. She was calling him Alex. That was nice. Now, if he could get her to stop fretting over him... 

 

"Mind if I take a shower? I feel kind of grungy after climbing trees and fighting that Ken doll." 

 

"Go ahead." He listened to the sound of the bathroom door shutting and locking and then running water. Finally. Peace and quiet. Peace and... Jesus, he could feel Mulder watching him. What the hell was he looking at? "Quit staring at me, Mulder." 

 

"I'm wondering what the hell she sees in you, Krycek." 

 

"Join the club." 

 

"Just get one thing straight, I didn't do this for you. I did this for her. She showed up on my doorstep with some kind of wild story about Russians, Serbs and biotoxins." There was a sound as the older man shifted in his chair. "You should be more careful with your files. She had some interesting photos that she was using to bolster her argument." 

 

Biotoxins? He hadn't done anything with biotoxins in a long time. Where the hell would Feldman have gotten hold of that? "Thanks for the advice, dad." 

 

A sigh. "I helped her this one time, Krycek. After this, you're on your own. I don't care how much she says she loves you or if she really is pregnant, I'm not saving your sorry ass again after all the crap you've pulled." 

 

She said she loved him? How could she tell Mulder that and not him? She loved him. Yeah, he kind of had the feeling she did, but it would have been nice if he was the first to know, not Mulder. "She's not pregnant." 

 

"I figured that out for myself." 

 

"Look, Mulder... " 

 

"I don't want her coming to me with black eyes or broken bones, either. I saw you, Krycek. You came damned close to hitting her." 

 

"I won't hit her, Mulder. Unlike you." The sanctimonious bastard. "I take care of Feldman ---" 

 

"So I've heard." 

 

"I don't mean the clothes or the money. I mean the vaccine and the protection." 

 

"You call that protection? You dragged her right into the middle ---" 

 

"You think she wouldn't have ended up there? They were saving her until they needed her again. I'm making sure she doesn't end up with somebody who really would abuse her. Like my German friends, for example." 

 

"Speaking of which -" 

 

"Let's not. I don't need your sympathy or your head games. It's done." 

 

"Like your arm?" 

 

"Mulder ---" 

 

Just then the bathroom door opened and Feldman came out, wrapped in a towel. She glanced at Mulder and then at Krycek. "Mulder, you should let Alex get some rest." 

 

"Yeah, Mulder, let me get some rest." He watched her slip under the covers next to him and sighed contentedly as she rested her head on his chest. Feldman loved him. Now all he had to do was get her to tell him. 

 

"This is hopeless," Wojtek complained. 

 

"No it isn't. We found the house." Yuri consulted the map again. "Unfortunately, it was empty. The Germans were nowhere to be found. So much for their legendary efficiency." 

 

Just then a Suffolk County police cruiser came up behind them, flashing its lights. 

 

"The police?" 

 

"Yes. What do you suppose they want," Yuri wondered, pulling over. 

 

A burly Suffolk County cop swaggered up to the car, hands on his gun and nightstick. "You two boys look lost. Where are you headed?" 

 

The two Russians exchanged startled glances and then Yuri ventured an answer. "We're not sure." 

 

"Do you have reservations somewhere?" 

 

"No." 

 

A weary sigh. "License and registration please." 

 

"Why?" 

 

"Because this is Fire Island and we can't have K cars driving all over the place, that's why." The cop rolled his eyes behind mirrored glasses. If they thought Fire Island was bad, they should have tried this in the Hamptons... 

Ellen rolled over and reached for her Ratboy. Instead, all she got was a handful of his empty chinos. With a frown, she sat up, put on her glasses and looked around the dark room. Mulder was slumped in the chair, sleeping peacefully, well, as peaceful as he could get. So where was her... oh, never mind. He was in the shower. 

 

Did he really tell that Nazi Ken that he loved him? She thought that was what she heard. And Nazi-boy said, I love you, too. Hung like a horse, Nazi-boy was. How could she compete with that, if that was what her Ratboy really liked? But if that was love, why the hell was he going to give her Ratboy to the Russians? And what was with the pinata thing? What was it Alex said? Oh yeah. Did that mean... could somebody really have... to her Ratboy? 

 

She slipped out of the bed and went to the bathroom door. Locked. Well, that wasn't going to stop her. Her Ratboy gave her a whole set of picks and these cheap-ass motel locks were easy. A quick dive into her purse, yeah, that was the right pick... bingo. 

 

Wow. Look at all the steam. How hot was that water? She closed the door, quietly, and slipped past the shower curtain. Yow. Very, very hot water. Scalding, almost. 

 

Krycek looked down at her slowly, his face blank and his green eyes focused on some point past her. 

 

She knew that look. That was her, once upon a time. A little over four years ago, to be exact. 

 

No hesitation. Ellen threw her arms around him and held him tight, feeling him tense at the contact. Of course he didn't want her sympathy. And she wasn't going to make him think he was getting it, either. Even if he really was. 

"I had a bad dream," she murmured into his chest. "Hold me?" 

 

And he did. 

 

Kurt was miserable. Well, he supposed it would have been worse if he hadn't found his way to that really awesome party last night and hooked up with that cute accountant. Larry... Barry... oh, who cared. The point was, Larry/Barry, the accountant was about his size and had a pretty decent wardrobe. For an accountant, that was. The sex, unfortunately, was boring with a capital B. 

Heaven knew, Kurt tried to spice things up with Barry, yes that was the man's name, using Barry's belt, but Barry started whining and crying and then Kurt had to shut him up and accidentally snapped Barry's neck. Conrad was going to be so upset about that. Resources were going to have to be used to hush up any investigations that might result. Of course, Conrad was going to be even more upset that Alex got away. 

 

Yeah, Conrad would definitely be pissed about that. 

 

Especially when Kurt had to explain who helped Alex get away. And how she did it. Maybe he should leave out the part about that tremendous orgasm. 

 

Kurt winced as he sniffed Barry's bottle of Drakkar. How horribly out of fashion. Speaking of out of fashion... he'd forgotten all about the Russians. Oh, they were sure to be upset. Furious, even. Not as furious as Conrad was going to be, because the Russians were sure to want their money back and Conrad was very, very tight with a buck. 

 

Yuri and Wojtek were miserable. An entire night spent in the holding cell on Fire Island was not a pleasant experience. Well, it was more pleasant than a Russian gulag or a prison in Europe and the guard had the radio tuned to a station called WLIR which was playing some of Yuri's favorite songs. How he adored hearing the Fine Young Cannibals. 

 

"The first ferry leaves at nine," the burly cop told him, speaking slowly and loudly, as if Yuri was deaf. Sergeant O'Brien had been doing that all night, even though Yuri understood English perfectly well and spoke it better than O'Brien. "You're going to be on that boat, understand?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"And next time, you come back in a car from this decade, yes?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"And you wear a natural fabric. This is Fire Island. We don't allow synthetic JC Penney stuff here." 

 

Wojtek nudged him and spoke in Russian. "I thought America did not have a dress code." 

 

"Hey, Wojo-whatever the heck your name is," O'Brien snapped, "You're in America, you speak English, got it?" 

 

Wojtek got it. He wasn't sure he wanted it, but he got it. "What should we wear, then, officer?" 

 

O'Brien sighed and looked them over. "You guys aren't cool enough for Hilfiger. I say you should stick with Ralph Lauren or LaCoste." 

 

The two Russian agents stared at each other as O'Brien went back to his desk, flipped through his Rolodex and nodded at them. "I'm going to do you poor little ex-Commies a favor. My girlfriend works in Bloomingdale's at the Roosevelt Field Mall. She'll set you up with the right clothes. And when she's done, I'll get you reservations out here." 

 

There was a quick, heated exchange in Russian. 

 

"Officer, we never want to come back here." 

 

Mulder was miserable. He had to go to the bathroom. Bad. But he didn't dare move because of Krycek and Feldman. Those two were going to be the death of him. Did either one of them have a shred of self-control? Of course not. He was beginning to think they really deserved each other. 

 

There was a muted giggle from beneath the covers. Feldman. 

 

The groan was Krycek. 

 

And there was no need to guess what they were doing, considering how the bed springs were squeaking. Even if the bed wasn't squeaking, he'd know. It wasn't that far from the chair to the bed and he could smell Feldman, could hear the wet sounds of Krycek using his fingers on her and could hear her trying not to scream. 

 

Whimpers now. Jeez. More grunts from Krycek. 

 

A breathless whisper. "Ohhhhh, Ratboy... " 

 

"Moi krasivya shalava... " 

 

Mulder winced. If he was right, Krycek just called Feldman his beautiful little slut. 

 

Another giggle. 

 

A long grunt from Krycek told Mulder that they were just about done. Finally. He'd give them a minute and then... No! No! Not fair! Feldman was slipping out of the bed, stark naked, no less, and into the bathroom. He knew Feldman. She liked a shower after her morning wake-up. A long shower. And Mulder's teeth were starting to float. 

 

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

 

Krycek sat up and regarded him with an amused smirk. "You okay, Mulder?" 

 

Oh. Shit. The bastard knew he'd been awake while they... Aw, geez. "Fine." 

 

"You don't look fine. You look... frustrated." 

 

"I said I'm fine." 

 

A slow, evil grin crossed Krycek's face. "You'd be a lot better if you'd have joined us, Mulder. I'm sure Feldman wouldn't have complained. Neither would I." 

 

That was it. There had to be another bathroom here. If not, there were some really nice bushes up the road.


	8. part 8

"For somebody who isn't pregnant, you're sure eating like you were." 

 

Feldman's fork hovered over Krycek's home fries and her brown eyes stared into his. Uh-oh, the kitten had PMS. He'd make sure to warn Mulder if Mulder didn't recognize the warning signs. 

 

Krycek slid his plate to her, staring wistfully at the rest of his breakfast. Sausage links never tasted so good. Especially after eating kibble. 

 

Mulder arched an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you hungry?" 

 

"Starved." 

 

"Jeez," Feldman growled. She reached over, grabbed Mulder's plate and slammed it down in front of Krycek. "Eat his." 

 

The two men exchanged nervous glances. 

 

"I said eat it, Alex!" 

 

Krycek winced. In the early days of their courtship, back when he had to take her hostage when he tried to woo her, she'd take that tone with him. And then she'd beat him senseless. "Um... kitten, I think Mulder might want to eat his ---" 

 

"Mulder's gonna puke it up on the ferry anyway." Feldman's eyes locked with his again and then wandered to the food on Mulder's plate. "Are you gonna eat that piece of melon?" 

 

Did he dare say he wanted that melon more than life itself? That he would gladly kill Mulder for that piece of melon? No. God help him. 

 

God help them all. 

 

What had he done to deserve this? 

 

Oh, that's right. He was in love with Ellen Feldman. 

 

"I can't watch this," Feldman declared, as Mulder leaned over the railing and hurled the rest of his breakfast. "I had to watch it on the way here and I don't want to watch it now." 

 

Krycek patted her shoulder. "Why don't you take a walk, kitten? I'll stay with him and make sure he doesn't fall overboard." 

 

"Gee, thanks," Mulder croaked. He was a shade of green that reminded Alex of Kermit the Frog on a bad day. "Nothing I like more than being baby-sat by a wanted felon." 

 

Feldman grabbed Mulder by his lapels. "Don't call my Ratboy a felon! He's not a felon! He can't be because he hasn't been convicted of anything! He hasn't even been indicted or arrested! Ratboy is a fugitive! God, how can you know everything there is to know about stupid crop circles and little gray men, but when it comes to enforcing the law, like my tax dollars pay you to do, and you get paid way too much, in my opinion, considering you never arrest ---" 

 

"Feldman!" Krycek clamped his hand over her mouth before she goaded Mulder into upping his arrest rate, starting with Alex Krycek. "How about taking that walk now? Mulder looks like he's about to toss his cookies again." 

 

Mulder caught the cue and leaned over the railing. 

 

"Ewww, I'm outta here." She stomped off. 

 

Krycek sighed and waited until Feldman was out of earshot. "Bet you don't miss that, do you?" 

 

"Feldman with PMS? Not by a long shot." The federal agent turned around and managed a shaky grin. "Of course, you usually found yourself on the receiving end most of the time anyway." 

 

"I've got the scars to prove it." He returned the grin. Damned if this didn't remind him of their early days together as partners. At least he didn't have to suck up to Mulder. "Actually, I did some research and found an herb that quiets her down. Dong Kwai. Last month, I would never have known she had PMS if she didn't complain about her boobs hurting when I ---" 

 

"Can we not talk about Feldman's anatomy or what you do with it?" 

 

Now here was something that he could do to pass the time. He could needle Mulder. "You still like her, don't you?" 

 

Mulder winced. "Like? I think the right word is fear." 

 

"You know she still finds you attractive, don't you?" 

 

"Krycek, please, my stomach... " 

 

"I don't mind. If she wants to play with you, that's fine. Even better if it can be all three of us ---" 

 

"Oh God!!!!" Mulder turned just in time and threw up violently. 

 

The one-armed man stifled a chuckle. Wait til he suggested taping it for Scully... 

 

Kurt sat back and sipped at his Starbuck's frappucino, marveling once more at how he could be tricked into paying almost five dollars for half a cup of froth and half a cup of sludge. Still, it was sludge that tasted pretty good. In just another forty minutes, he'd be on land, on the Long Island Railroad and on his way to Conrad. Well, maybe he ought to stop at the apartment and pick up some nattier clothes than these. 

 

Another sip of the frappy and Kurt sighed contentedly, thinking of how nice it would be to squirt himself liberally with Chaos for Men and check out the male flight attendants. 

 

Suddenly, he saw her. 

 

That Feldman woman. And look at the scowl on her face. 

 

He. Had. To. Have. Her. 

 

Now. 

 

Yuri was going to be violently ill. Forget going to be, he was violently ill. Barely made it to the rails in time to throw up the Eggs Benedict that O'Brien cheerfully served them for breakfast. 

 

Wojtek followed his partner and tried to ignore the sounds of a stomach in distress. If he didn't, he'd be puking, too. Instead, Wojtek forced himself to look at the people on deck. So many beautiful women. So many obvious plastic surgeries. So much Clairol number 43 that the golden glow made his retinas ache. 

There, among the crowd, finally was someone with dark hair. Green eyes. One arm. 

 

"Yuri!" 

 

"Bleeeeeaaaaaaah!" 

 

He would take that as a 'what'. "Krycek." 

 

"Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

 

Okay, that could be interpreted as 'where', couldn't it? "On the other side of the deck. Talking to some skinny man who is about the same color green as you." 

 

"Bleeeeeeeahhh." 

 

"Okay, okay, five minutes. I don't think he's going anywhere, either." 

 

"You are the first woman I have ever been interested in." 

 

The voice was soft, had an accent like a Volkswagen commercial and whispered into her ear. Ellen had a sinking feeling she knew who it was. What kind of a world was this where she couldn't even make a pit stop in peace? 

 

Her hand dropped to her purse, to the pocket where she kept her mace. Useful thing, mace, and her Ratboy made sure to buy her a container of the strongest one on the market. She'd make sure to thank him properly later. If she made it out of the bathroom alive, that was. 

 

A beefy hand grabbed her by the arm and spun her around and Ellen found herself staring up at - "Ken!" 

 

"Kurt, liebling, my name is Kurt." 

 

Her eyes traveled up the wall of solid muscle in front of her. Getting out of this one was going to take some doing. "What a big boy you are, Dirt." 

 

"Kurt." 

 

"Kurt." Ellen peeked past him, to the bathroom door. Two person occupancy and locked from the inside. Which meant if she wanted to get out of here, she had to go through Dirt or trick him into letting her out. "Gee, fancy meeting you in the ladies' room." 

 

"I followed you here." 

 

No kidding. Boy, Kurt might be a looker, but what a ditzy blond he was! Maybe he wasn't even really a blond. At least he didn't like girls. On the other hand, he liked her Ratboy. Liked her Ratboy way, way too much. And maybe she ought to teach him a lesson. Yeah. She'd teach Dirt a lesson he'd never forget. 

 

"Yeah, Mulder, I think it could be a lot of fun. You, me, Scully, Feldman. We get Carmine to do the taping, Skinner to direct and ---" 

 

"Stop it, please," Mulder croaked, weakly. On the other hand, the idea of watching Scully and Feldman together wasn't that nauseating. Hell, he might even pay to see that one. The federal agent took a deep breath and scanned the crowd.

 

"Krycek." 

 

"What?" 

 

"Very slowly, turn around and look directly across from us and tell me if you recognize those two men. You'll know who I'm talking about. They're the only ones that don't look like they stepped out of a magazine." 

 

Krycek ran his hand through his hair and turned. "Yuri Kotlyarsky and Wojtek Szmarnsczyk. Ex-KGB. Not the brightest pair in the world but they get the job done." 

 

"How much are you worth to them?" 

 

"I think it's up to half a million. Why?" 

 

"The FBI pension isn't what it used to be, Krycek." 

 

The one-armed fugitive's head pivoted. "Need I remind you that Feldman has PMS, Mulder? All I have to do is tell her you said that and you're toast." 

 

"Speaking of Feldman, where is she?" 

 

"You can let go of me now, Dirt." 

 

"Kurt." 

 

Ellen rolled her eyes. How many times had she called this shmendrik Dirt and how many times had he corrected her? Didn't he realize it was intentional? 

 

"Whatever. Just let go already." 

 

"I will let go of you when we get there, schosskinder." The iron grip on her arm grew even tighter as the giant German steered her through the parked cars. Amazing how people couldn't go away for the weekend without their cars. 

 

Ellen found herself marveling at the vehicles. Not one cost less than $40,000, with the exception of that rusty 1987 Plymouth Reliant over there. "Hey, Kurt!" 

 

"Yes, my darling." 

 

Ewwww. "How about that one? The maroon one?" 

 

Kurt's nose wrinkled. "It's disgusting." 

 

"It doesn't have an alarm." 

 

"How do you know?" 

 

"Because the average alarm system costs about seven hundred bucks. That car is only worth four hundred. You do the rest of the arithmetic." If you can, she added silently. 

 

Kurt stopped, gripped both of her arms in his hands and lifted her so that they were eye level. "Don't think I've forgotten that trick you pulled in the bathroom, liebling." 

 

That trick. Ellen fought hard not to giggle as she stared into those impossibly blue, impossibly vacant eyes. All she did was point past him, shout, 'Oh my God' and he turned around to look, which gave her the chance to dig out her trusty can of mace. Not so trusty, as it turned out. Her Ratboy gave her a defective can of mace. And she was left squirting air at Kurt. The big man actually roared as he yanked the cannister from her hand and crushed it like a potato chip. If it wasn't for the fact that she had really awful PMS, she'd have been scared spitless. "Kurty, if you crush my arms, I won't be able to break into the car." 

 

He set her down, eyeing her warily. "This car is hideous." 

 

"Look, you want me to spank and degrade you, right?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

"Where better than in a K car?" 

 

"Can you really open the doors?" 

 

Ellen rolled her eyes again. "I can if you let me go already, you moron." 

 

Kurt lowered her and eyed her warily. "No tricks." 

 

"You're four times my size, gargantua. How much damage can I do to you?" Plenty. Wait til he saw what she could do. A quick look confirmed that she didn't even have to pick the lock. The doors were open. She tugged at the handle and opened the driver's side. "Step into my office." 

 

"I've rescued you once this week, Krycek. Think you can handle this by yourself?" Mulder's hands gripped the railing even tighter as he added, "Discreetly." 

 

Krycek favored him with a toothy, feral grin. "Those two? Easy enough. All I have to do is shout 'designer knockoff' and the fashion police will be on them in seconds." 

 

"That's a Feldman tactic. Next you'll be complaining about your nails." 

 

"Have you ever seen a Feldman tactic fail? We could learn a few things from her." 

 

"It would be nice if she knew what the hell she was doing." 

 

"Well, there is that," Krycek agreed. 

 

"Are you sure you know what you're doing," Kurt asked, doubtfully. 

 

"Look, Dirt, you're the one who wanted make-out music." 

 

"Kurt." 

 

"Whatever." Ellen clenched her teeth and continued to hot wire the car. Sure he wanted make-out music. All she had to do was suggest it and the big moron agreed with her. Suddenly, the engine sputtered and roared to life. Hot damn! "See? Told you I knew what I was doing." 

 

The big man nodded appreciatively. 

 

They stared at each other. 

 

Wow, her throat was dry. "Wanna see what's on the radio?" 

 

"Yes! Good idea." 

 

Ellen flipped the switch. Static. Lots of static. And then... "WHTZ! Home of the world-famous Z-Morning Zoo ---" 

 

"I hate this station." 

 

"It's the only one we can get." 

 

"I hate this song." 

 

She hated Celine Dion's Titanic song, too. "It'll be over eventually." 

 

"What do we do now?" 

 

Was he nuts? He was the one chasing after her, telling her he wanted her to beat him again and --- Never mind. "Take off your clothes, Gunther, I wanna get a good look at you." 

 

"Kurt. My name is Kurt." 

 

And stupid thing that he was, he started stripping. Ellen leaned back in the driver's seat and thought fast. If she hit the horn, would somebody come before Kurt crushed her like a bug? Not likely, which is why she never trusted anybody to rescue her. Even her Ratboy. 

 

"Now what?" 

 

Ellen frowned. For somebody who was supposedly excited by her, Dirt was kind of limp. Large. But limp, nonetheless. "That's not real, is it?" 

 

Kurt flushed crimson. "Conrad paid to have it lengthened." 

 

"That must've hurt like the dickens." 

 

"Ja." 

 

"Does it still work?" 

 

"Of course it works, liebchen. Did I not demonstrate for you?" 

 

"Show me again." She waited for him to start getting busy with himself and when he was thoroughly engrossed by his own body, Ellen put the car in 'drive'. 

 

That got Kurt's attention. "What are you doing?" 

 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" 

 

"You can't do that!" 

 

Kurt lunged for her and Ellen shrieked as her high heeled pump got wedged between the floorboard and the gas pedal. The ancient Reliant was surprisingly spry and roared forward, crashing through the hull of the ferry and landing with an unceremonious 'sploosh' in the Atlantic. 

 

"What was that?!" 

 

Yuri leaned over the railing for the first time in ten minutes without vomiting. "It's our car!" 

 

"What?!" Wojtek pushed his partner aside. "How are we going to get back to Brighton Beach?" 

 

There was a soft chuckle behind them. "Looks like you'll have to swim." 

 

With that, Alex Krycek gave Yuri a violent shove that sent him over the railing into the water, where he landed with a 'splish' next to the Reliant. 

 

Wojtek reached for his gun. Unfortunately, the gun was still in the Fire Island police station, where it had been confiscated because neither of them had a permit to carry. 

 

Krycek sighed and gestured to the railing. "You want to jump or should I throw you?" 

 

"You're under arrest, Alexei ---" 

 

"Alexander. I'm American." Krycek moved with lightning speed, catching Wojtek in the tenderest of tender spots and threw the gasping man into the water. Wojtek landed with a 'thunk' as he bounced off the hood of the Reliant. 

 

"I said discreetly, not like a bad episode of Batman," Mulder said. 

 

Krycek fought the urge to roll his eyes and call Mulder a dumbass. "In case you haven't noticed, Mulder, this bucket has a huge hole in it." 

 

"I'm surprised the crew hasn't said anything." 

 

"Why don't you take charge?" 

 

"And have to explain this to Skinner?" 

 

Just then, shrieking not unlike a chihuahua's bark got their attention.


	9. part 9

"Help me! I can't swim!" 

 

Shit! Mulder couldn't believe it. Actually, he could believe it. Of course it would be Feldman who drove the Reliant through the hull of the ferry. And of course she couldn't swim. He shucked off his jacket, handed Krycek his shoulder holster, only afterwards thinking he might regret doing that, and dived into the water, narrowly missing both Yuri and Wojtek. 

 

"Get me out of here!" Feldman was hanging onto the sinking Reliant for dear life. 

 

"Let go of the car, Feldman." 

 

"But this water is gross! You puked in it!" 

 

"It's an ocean, Feldman. It's gone." 

 

"No, it's not! Look! There's ----" 

 

"Feldman!" Why was he doing this again? Did it even matter anymore? Doggedly, the weary federal agent swam to the shivering lawyer and grabbed her by her skirt, yanking her into the water while she emitted a high pitched squeal. 

 

"My glasses!" 

 

"Don't worry, I'm sure Ratboy will buy you a new pair." 

 

"Don't call him Ratboy, you jerk!" 

 

"Want me to let go of you?" 

 

"Mulder, what about Kurt?" 

 

"Who?" Why couldn't one thing with Feldman ever be easy? Why? 

 

"That Nazi guy! That's how I crashed the car. Kurt wanted me to spank him and ---" 

"Feldman, that's way too much information." 

 

The petite lawyer sneezed miserably. "Mulder?" 

 

"Yes, Feldman?" 

 

"The ferry is sinking." 

 

"Yes, Feldman." And he was going to have to come up with yet another reasonable explanation of how he happened to be here for Skinner.


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue One 

 

The smoker finished reading the report, closed the file and looked across the table at the petite lawyer, who was finishing the last of her pasta primavera. "It would have been nice if you could have recovered Mr. Krycek without sinking a ship." 

 

Feldman wiped at her lips. "It would've been nice if my wardrobe hadn't gotten ruined in the process, either, smokey, but it did. I also swam in puke-filled waters, lost a pair of glasses and had killer PMS ---" 

 

"Feldman." He held up a hand. "Enough." 

 

"Anyhow, I rescued my Ratb - uh, my Alex." 

 

"Yes, you did. Not bad for a novice." He crushed his cigarette and looked at her, thoughtfully. If her report could be believed, Mulder accompanied her, but didn't do much, other than fish her out of the water and whine. It was one of the most cogent reports he'd seen in a while. Perhaps he'd recruit her to draft some documents in the future. In the meantime... he lifted a small stack of folders. "Please review these potential assignments for Mr. Krycek. I need an answer by this time tomorrow." 

 

"Yes, sir." Feldman licked her lips, slowly, almost seductively as she took the folders. A pity he knew better than to be interested in her sexually. "Sir?" 

 

"Yes, Feldman?" 

 

"What's going to happen to Strughold?" 

 

"That doesn't concern you." 

 

"But, sir -" 

 

"Feldman. Go home to Mr. Krycek. I'm sure he'd like to see you." 

 

"But ---" 

 

"It's not open to discussion, Feldman. Don't test my patience." 

 

Feldman's mouth twitched. Then she stood up, tucked the files under her arm and grabbed her purse. "You're going to beep me tomorrow, right?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

Without another word, she turned and left the restaurant, leaving him to admire the view as she left. Krycek was right. He should have recruited her years ago. 

 

 

Epilogue Two 

 

Krycek shifted in his seat as the smoker finished the report. 

 

"A simple operation, Alex. You were supposed to eliminate Strughold and von Rumohr. Instead, you eliminated the Fire Island ferry." 

 

"Strughold made some kind of a deal with the Russians." Alex's accusation was silent. The agreement he made when he rejoined the fold was that the Russians would be kept at bay. "And it was Feldman who took out the ferry." 

 

"I thought we agreed she wasn't going to be more than an indulgence, Alex." 

 

Was the old bastard joking? It seemed like it. Almost. Except he wasn't in on the joke. "She did save my life, sir." 

 

"Yes, and she brought Mulder in, made a nuisance of herself at the German embassy and destroyed an expensive piece of public transportation. Perhaps you might teach her the value of subtlety." 

 

Should he ask about the biotoxin photos? Nah, there was no way he'd get a straight answer. Better to get it out of Feldman. In bed. Yeah, that was a plan. 

The smoker cleared his throat. 

 

"Would you like me to make another attempt on Strughold, sir?" 

 

"No. Not now." 

 

In the future. That much was understood. And he was looking forward to it. 

 

 

Epilogue Three 

 

Kurt hung his head and did his best to look miserable as Conrad read him the riot act. He found himself thinking of Fraulein Feldman and the whip again. 

"... had to give back the money... " 

 

How lucky Alex was to have a woman who was so good with a whip. 

 

"... simple operation... " 

 

A woman who was smart enough to outwit him. 

 

"... bailed you out after you were arrested... " 

 

Who had good taste in clothes. 

 

"... murdering an accountant. An accountant for God's sake! A Jewish accountant ... " 

 

Barry was Jewish? Feldman was Jewish. Perhaps Jews were not as inferior as Conrad believed. Perhaps... 

 

"Are you listening to me, Kurt?" 

 

"Yes, Conrad." And he closed his eyes to daydream about Russians and Jews and whips. Oh my. 

 

 

Epilogue Four 

 

"Well?" 

 

Yuri frowned as he hung up the phone. "We can't go home until we get Krycek." 

 

"But we don't know where he is," Wojtek protested. "And we don't have a car." 

 

"That's your fault. I asked you to read the classified ads for one that fits our budget." 

 

Wojtek rolled his eyes. "Our budget. Ever since the devaluation of the ruble, that's all we worry about. Pinching rubles until Lenin screams. I'm sick of the budget. Why can't we rent a car?" 

 

"Because, idiot, we don't have a credit card. We were lucky to get the five hundred dollars to buy a new car," Yuri hissed. 

 

"You know what kind of a car five hundred gets you? Listen to this. For sale. 1979 Mercury Cougar, some rust, some front body damage, brakes new, needs transmission." He threw the paper on the table in disgust. "Maybe we should consider going freelance." 

 

"Who would hire us after this fiasco?" 

 

"Strughold. He owes us." 

 

"Strughold?" 

 

"Yes." 

 

And so they plotted. 

 

 

Epilogue Five 

 

"You know why I called you in here, Agent Mulder." 

 

"No, sir." Oh, but he could, guess, couldn't he? 

 

Skinner slammed a copy of New York Newsday on the desk and sections B and C fluttered to the floor in protest. The title shouted, Sinking of the Fire Island Ferry and the picture, taken by a tourist with a really good camera, showed Feldman mid-shriek while Mulder fished her out of the water. "I assume there was an X-File." 

 

Mulder swallowed and thought fast. "No. I went to Fire Island for a vacation." 

 

"With Ellen Feldman?" The assistant director's voice rumbled like distant thunder. 

 

"No, but she was there with Kry... uh, her new boyfriend." 

 

"I see." Skinner didn't look like he saw anything except the color red. "And exactly how did that car end up going through the hull of the ferry, Agent Mulder?" 

 

"I thought the Suffolk County police had that in their report." Feldman had concocted a wild tale about Russian terrorists which he'd been forced to corroborate for lack of anything better. 

 

Skinner's teeth were clenched. "It's been lost." 

 

"Lost, sir?" Krycek's doing, no doubt. Thank god. Maybe the Consortium had its uses after all. Maybe Krycek wasn't such a bad guy, either --- nah. 

"I'm waiting, Agent Mulder." 

 

Mulder skimmed the article. There was mention of a naked blond giant of a man, two Russians in bad clothes, a K car and, of course, federal agent Fox Mulder and his ... oh dear god, his fiance, Ellen Feldman. 

 

Feldman was going to pay for this. 

 

 

Epilogue Six 

 

They eyed each other warily across the kitchen table. 

 

"Are you sure about this, Feldman?" 

 

"Positive." Ellen laid the keys on the table and pushed them across to him. "With that nice, juicy settlement the Company got for me, I was able to get this new apartment." 

 

"But will you be able to make rent?" Krycek stuffed the keys into his pocket. "I'm not going to bail you out every month, kitten." 

 

She sniffed haughtily. "I've got myself a cash cow, Alex. I can make rent." 

"Do tell." 

 

Ooops. She didn't need him to know she was working for the smoker. At least, not yet. "I'm doing UCC filings and collections for a car dealership. I might even be able to work out a deal on a repossessed car." 

 

Green eyes peered at her suspiciously through thick black lashes. "When did you have time to do all this? You've been busy rescuing me." 

 

Think fast. Think..."In between the time I left you in New York and leaving here to rescue you." 

 

Krycek frowned. Did he suspect...? "That was quite a story you told Mulder, kitten. Russians, Serbs... what was the other thing?" 

 

"Biotoxins." 

 

"Biotoxins," he echoed, nodding. "Where did you learn about those?" 

 

Oh man... Think, Feldman, think. "A Robin Cook novel. And a couple of crappy movies on TV." 

 

He didn't seem very convinced. "Anybody ever tell you, you watch too much TV?" 

 

"No, but my mother told me never to talk with my mouth full."


End file.
